


American Beauty

by scatteringmyashes



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5 + 1 Fic, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Comfort No Hurt, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7342447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T’Challa had been in the United States for the better part of fifteen years. He doesn't get confused by American culture or customs, regardless of how strange or nonsensical he found them. </p>
<p>But every once in awhile a meme or a trend that T’Challa (busy doing things with his life outside of the internet, thanks for asking James) just didn’t understand would pop up. It never happened often enough to be an issue though and T’Challa accepted the fact that he would never fully comprehend American culture. That was ok.</p>
<p>Then Sam Wilson walked into his life. </p>
<p>Or: Five times T’Challa didn’t understand Sam and the one time he did. </p>
<p>A continuation of the series -- may not make sense independently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the summary, the previous fic [Falcon, Falcon, What Do You See?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6947839) should be read before this. 
> 
> Title is inspired by the Fall Out Boy song 'American Beauty/American Psycho.' 
> 
> Find me on tumblr [here!](http://thepoetofjustice.tumblr.com/)

**One:**

Sam was an exceptionally kind man, the type whom T’Challa’s mother and father would have loved to meet. He would help old ladies cross busy streets or make sure that homeless folks on city corners had somewhere warm and dry to stay when a storm was coming in. If they didn’t, he’d give them one of his many business cards. It took T’Challa an almost embarrassing amount of time to realize that they weren’t personal cards like he had, but rather cards with numbers of hotlines and addresses of shelters for to stay at if they needed help.

That was one of the many things T’Challa admired about Sam: his helpful nature. Certainly Sam could not do everything for everyone, something which he was very clear about whenever his work came up, but he seemed to be doing his best to try so anyway. At least, that was how it appeared to T’Challa. 

Sam, T’Challa had decided around the time they went on their fourth date, had an endless amount of patience that had to have some kind of divine origin. This was after Sam had spent twenty minutes talking to a homeless vet, making sure she knew that there were shelters and therapists and programs available for her. 

T’Challa asked, that night, what got Sam into doing this. Of course he already had a helpful nature; he had been pararescue after all. But he could have left and done so many things. Sam was one of the most intelligent people T’Challa had ever met and T’Challa had studied at _Oxford_. Certainly, had he wanted, Sam could have gone into any number of jobs and made much more money.

“It’s just…” Sam struggled for words, stopping right there on the pavement. T’Challa waited, patient, understanding that sometimes it took time to form sentences out of thoughts. “That could have been me. Or Steve. Or any of the people I worked with. But I got lucky. I got all the help I needed. It’s just fair that they get that too.” 

They kept walking and left aside the heavy stuff for the night, but T’Challa was still thinking about it days later. 

Of course he supported veterans, even if he didn’t necessarily agree with why they were fighting. But to go from a warzone and go into treating others who had been there… It sounded like something far more than T’Challa could ever do.

There was a reason T’Challa worked with cats, after all. They tended to be easier to understand and easier to study. For all of their mystery, at the end of the day they were animals with needs and wants that could be recorded. Some cats might like certain toys more than others but overall patterns emerged. Things became clear and easy. T’Challa could write essays and articles about them.

People? No. He would never understand people. 

Especially not Sam Wilson. 

Kind-hearted, ever patient, never got into an unnecessary fight Sam Wilson. 

“How do you work with this man?” The aforementioned man complained as he shoved James “Call me Bucky, seriously T’Challa, it’s not derogatory or unprofessional I promise” Barnes away. The two were sitting in the middle of Steve’s couch, fighting over the TV remote. The owner and only person both of them would listen to was currently in the kitchen making popcorn. T’Challa felt like he could intervene but he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Between Bucky’s and Sam’s military background, T’Challa didn’t fancy his chances in a fight, playful or not, which would definitely break out if he tried to take the remote from them. So he just settled back and watched as Sam elbowed Bucky in the stomach, only to get a hand to the face in retaliation. 

Steve walked into the living room and saw his boyfriend fighting with his best friend. He let out a sigh and exchanged looks with T’Challa. This was hardly the first time this had happened and it would not be the last. No one was quite sure when Sam and Bucky had decided that their relationship would adopt an antagonistic tone, but it had. The two had jumped into the roles with zealous joy.

It gave T’Challa almost as many headaches as it gave Steve. 

After the movie had been decided, which only took thirty minutes and was probably a new record, the four more or less settled down. That is, Sam stopped harassing Bucky every few minutes and Bucky didn’t provoke him. Steve had long since learned his lesson and made two big bowls of popcorn; the first time they had done the double movie date, Bucky and Sam had spent the first half fighting over the bowl. 

The second half had been a passive-aggressive contest in which they attempted to cuddle with their boyfriends in progressively more and more elaborate ways. That had not been so bad. It wasn’t like the movie had been very good. 

“You know,” T’Challa said later that night, when he and Sam were walking back to Sam’s apartment, “I have no idea why you and James dislike each other so much.” 

Sam laughed. “For the same reason you call him James and not Bucky, I assume,” he replied. T’Challa rolled his eyes and definitely did not blush. It wasn’t like he had something against Bucky for preferring dogs over cats. Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. And he definitely didn’t hold it over Bucky that the zoo was paying more attention to its feline programs than to its canine ones. 

T’Challa wasn’t responsible for the promotion, growth, and success of the big cat education initiative after all. 

Just like how he hadn’t been responsible for getting Bucky a cat encyclopedia one year for the zoo gift exchange. No one could prove a thing. And oh yes, how Bucky had tried.

“Did you want to spend the night?” Sam asked without warning. T’Challa smiled and gave his boyfriend a chaste kiss on the cheek. 

“I would love to, but I have a skype meeting tomorrow morning with a few people from Italy. They wish to improve their breeding program.” As soon as he said it, T’Challa knew what Sam was thinking. 

He waggled his eyebrows and bumped shoulders with T’Challa. “You know, you could get some hands-on experience tonight. I’ve been told I’m a real tiger in bed,” Sam teased. T’Challa chuckled and rolled his eyes, kissing Sam again but not letting it get too far. 

They hadn’t slept together yet. Not that they weren’t very much interested, but rather because the two of them wanted to do it right. It was just that they had different ideas of what constituted right. Sam seemed to think as long as T’Challa could spend the night that was fine, but T’Challa wanted it to be special. 

After all, Sam deserved the world. If T’Challa couldn’t give that to him, well, that wouldn’t stop him from trying. He was allowed to do that much. He would do nothing less for the man who had brightened his days and shortened his nights. 

At least Sam did not push the issue. Indeed, it seemed like it hardly mattered to him. T’Challa appreciated that. He liked to think that this relationship was more than just physical attraction.

“I will text you as soon as I get home,” T’Challa promised. 

“You better.” The silence hung comfortably around them as they walked the final few blocks to Sam’s apartment. T’Challa’s car was parked outside, sleek gray and rather unassuming, but it got good milage and it had enough room for the often strange things he found himself bringing from the zoo to his apartment. 

Walking up the steps and looking up at Sam, beautifully haloed by the porchlight, T’Challa found himself overcome with a sense of awe. He, for some unknown reason, was able to date this wonderful human being. Sam Wilson, a man who went to war and ended up saving people only to come back and do it all again, was allowing T’Challa, someone who knew more facts about cats than anyone probably needed to know, to date him. 

It made absolutely no sense, but Sam was just kind like that. 

“I loved tonight,” T’Challa murmured, pulling Sam into a tight hug. 

“It really was great,” he agreed. “I did think you were going to kill Bucky when he flicked that piece of popcorn at you.” T’Challa would deny it to the end of his days, but the very thought might have crossed his mind.

He shook his head. “Why would I do that when I oh-so clearly have you fighting for my honor?” Sam pulled away, a playful smile on his face letting T’Challa know nothing was wrong.

“Oh, is that how it is?” He teased.

T’Challa thought about how Sam let him go on hour long rants concerning the fur trade, how Sam thought that eating overpriced hamburgers in the zoo was a fun date, how Sam still searched in vain to see the black panthers without T’Challa helping him. How Sam worked long, often thankless hours and still had enough energy to smile at the end. 

And yet, at the same time, how Sam was one of the snarkiest, most sarcastic people T’Challa had ever met and he knew _Bucky_ of all people. A door had hit Bucky in the face on one occasion; now he knew better than to assume Sam would hold it open for him. And that wasn’t counting all the times Sam had threatened to _show you what I got, Barnes, your army ass can’t stand up to this._

Even Steve wasn’t immune to it. Hell, T’Challa himself had been on the receiving end of more than a few quips, mostly about his love for cats, and the day Sam didn’t send him a cat video was the day they broke up. 

“That’s how it is,” T’Challa replied, kissing Sam one last time before retreating down the stairs and getting into his car. He didn’t try to resist looking back. Seeing Sam standing there, illuminated like an angel, was breath-taking. 

Of course, that just made getting home and seeing that he had four new texts from Sam even more entertaining.

Sam: If I got you this would you like it  
Sam: [Image of a laser pointer]  
Sam: You could use it with the cats too  
Sam: Would that finally lure the panthers out of hiding

T’Challa smiled, typed up a quick response, and then got ready to sleep. Sam would be there tomorrow, ready to confuse and harass and generally make T’Challa a better person. 

And T’Challa would welcome every second of it. 

**Two:**

There was something off about Sam. Not in a good, ‘there’s going to be a nice surprise in your future’ way. But more of a, ‘we need to talk about something’ way. T’Challa wanted to ask him about it, but he didn’t know if there was a proper way to do so. Besides, there had never been any communication issues before. Sam knew that he was more than welcome to talk about anything with T’Challa, be it PTSD or something less serious, but he also wasn’t required to tell T’Challa anything.

Which left T’Challa in the uncomfortable position of having to wonder if he should ask or not. 

It all came to a head about three days after T’Challa first noticed, the two of them eating dinner on Sam’s couch. Neither of them had much energy; it was almost time for the mural to be unveiled so T’Challa was preoccupied with the panthers, while a surprise drop in temperature meant Sam was busy trying to make sure everyone in the city had the option of a warm bed and a roof over their head. 

“It’s almost the sixteenth,” Sam said without preamble, between eating his lasagna and criticizing the chef on television for using the wrong kind of salt. T’Challa nodded, unsure of where this was going. “My mom’s birthday is the twentieth.” 

“If you need to leave, that is fine?” T”Challa wasn’t sure why that would have concerned Sam, but he supposed that different people have different worries when it came to relationships. “I promise I won’t be insulted. Your family is important after all.” There was a faint tug in T’Challa’s chest. His own father had died in a freak car accident several years ago, while his mother had passed away from cancer a year after. 

No, he certainly would not begrudge Sam time with his own family. 

“It’s not that,” Sam began, shifting. He turned to face T’Challa better, face half-illuminated by the television. “My mom lives near the city, it’s just… Ah…” He swallowed and licked his lips. T’Challa hesitated before leaning in and kissing him.

“Whatever it is, Sam, it will be fine. Just please tell me? I know it has been bothering you.” Sam frowned and seemed upset that T’Challa had noticed. “I understand that it can be hard to tell someone you just met things, but know that I will do my best never to judge you.” Because, for all of his confidence and bluster, Sam did have insecurities. 

He still had nightmares, T’Challa knew, and sometimes woke up in a cold sweat and couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. On other occasions, he’d wake up screaming and kicking. It had happened once when T’Challa had slept over, and the look on Sam’s face made it clear that he expected T’Challa to split afterwards. 

That would never happen. T’Challa might not have expected it, but that didn’t matter. He might not love Sam, but he could. He definitely could love the man who teased him about liking cats yet listened to him talk about them for hours, the man who insisted that the only way to eat waffles was with whipped cream, the man who denied crying when he watched The Notebook and found T’Challa’s lack of knowledge about American music a travesty. 

Yes, T’Challa could see him falling in love with Sam. It was really only a matter of time and, even more shocking to him as they sat there on the couch, plates of half-eating lasagna in their laps, was the fact that T’Challa was one hundred percent ok with that. 

“My mom wants to meet you,” Sam blurted out. T’Challa blinked. Then he registered Sam’s words. He blinked again. “If you don’t want to, that is completely understandable. Man, we’ve been dating just over a month but my mom is really protective. And I might have mentioned you a few times, so she’s looked you up… Oh man, was that too much? I promise that she didn’t look up everything. Probably. She’s a really involved mom, but she means well.” 

“Sam?” T’Challa interrupted. Sam was blushing. It was faint and hard to see but it was there. 

He looked beautiful and T’Challa wanted to kiss him, so he did. 

“I would love to meet your mother,” T’Challa replied. “If she raised you, she must be an excellent person.” Sam raised an eyebrow. 

“This is a bit more than meeting my mom,” Sam said, choosing every word carefully. “It’s her birthday, sure, but she’s going to invite a lot of people. My family is very… eager about celebrations.” T’Challa wasn’t sure what was concerning him so much, but he chalked it up to typical nerves. 

So when they pulled up to Sam’s mother’s house, three hours from the city, T’Challa wasn’t sure what to make of what he saw. The house itself was rather ordinary, a tree and a few bushes in the front. There wasn’t any peeling paint but T’Challa could feel that this was an old home. He wouldn’t have been surprised if someone told him this was where Sam grew up; there was even a porch swing where a few kids were playing.

Because this was not a mere ‘lot’ of people. This was close to one hundred people packed into a three bedroom, two bath house. 

“This, uh, this is it.” Sam had been strangely quiet for most of the ride over, which T’Challa had been only a little concerned about. Now, though, T’Challa was more worried about how he would fair. “Just follow me and don’t listen to Uncle Joe. He’s from South Carolina and a bit… Old fashioned.” 

T’Challa tried to remember that but after meeting Aunts Robby, Sarah, and Jessie, Uncles Tim, Cody, and Zachary, as well as a practical horde of nieces, nephews, and cousins, all the names were swirling in his head. He liked to think that he had a good memory for faces, but this was putting him to the test.

Everyone, he noticed, had some vague feature that reminded him of Sam. Uncle Jack had Sam’s ears. Aunt Chante had Sam’s eyes. There was the same curly black or brown hair everywhere, except for Cousin Elizabeth who had dyed hers a shocking shade of electric blue. 

The most prominent feature was the gap between the two front teeth. It seemed, to T’Challa, that everyone had it to some degree. The only exception were the few nieces and nephews who were undergoing the pre-pubescent horror of braces, but the adults seemed perfectly content with how their teeth looked. T’Challa liked it; there was a sense of unity among everyone. 

Considering how many people there were, everything was the right degree of loud. T’Challa felt like he had to shout his name but not a single person asked where he was from. He wasn’t sure whether that was out of manners or the fact that his accent wasn’t distinct enough, gobbled up instead by the general cacophony that filled the house. 

The only part that kept T’Challa sane was that Sam was there the whole time. They held hands and no one commented. At least, nothing unwelcome. There was a trio of aunts who all commented about how happy they were that Sam had found a nice man and one cousin teased Sam about finally getting some, but nothing amiss. Nothing that made T’Challa tense up or want to leave. 

“Are you all right, my dear?” T’Challa asked as they escaped into the relatively quiet backyard. It was too cold for many people to want to mingle, heaters or not, and the pool was more ice than water. A brave dog sniffed the edge and a few kids splashed each other while parents or other family members watched, but no one was about to swim.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Sam shook his head and let out a shaky breath. It was clear that he was not fine but T’Challa didn’t push him, just stood next to him and rubbed circles on his back. Inside, someone broke a glass. Another person laughed and the mass of people moved in order to clean it up. “I guess I got so caught up in worrying about you, I forgot to worry about myself.”

T’Challa knew Sam had PTSD. It was one of the first things they had discussed as soon as it was clear this was a serious relationship. T’Challa had listened to Sam, made mental notes, and then done his own research online. Loud noises, crowded rooms, inability to control the environment? The family gathering had to be a little bit of hell for Sam. 

“Is there anything I can do?” T’Challa asked, wishing he could protect Sam from the world. He was just a scientist, hardly trained for combat, and the most exercise he ever got was walking from one pen to the other. 

Sam shrugged and shifted so he was closed to T’Challa. “I’ll be fine. Dinner’s soon and everyone calms down with food inside of them.” He cracked a small smile. “Just wait until my mom opens up the presents. That’s going to be a doozy.” There was a moment of near silence. Someone came out, possibly Uncle Rick but just as easily Uncle Tom, and he nodded to the couple before going off to the other end of the porch to smoke. 

They stood there for a while, until a few snowflakes started to come down forcing them back inside. By that point Sam was mostly relaxed, he had just wanted to spend a few more minutes with his boyfriend. 

It was time for dinner though, and both of them were hungry enough to force their way into the swarmed kitchen. Everything was set out buffet style, a group of loyal aunts and uncles making sure that there was a little bit of every dish. T’Challa found himself prompted to try all of the foods, from Uncle Jordan’s ribs to Aunt Mary’s potato salad. 

He had a bit of everything. It was delicious and made T’Challa miss home-cooked Wakandan food only a little.

“I don’t see why you were so nervous inviting him,” someone commented as Sam and T’Challa found a place to eat. They were standing but that was fine; it allowed them to move out of the way whenever someone walked by, which was often considering how crowded the living room was. 

“T’Challa, meet Mama Wilson. At least, my Mama Wilson,” Sam introduced with a smile, hugging his mom. “Happy birthday, mom.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” T’Challa added, extending a hand for her to shake. She waved her hand in dismissal, but before he could be too confused she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. 

“None of that ma’am nonsense. Call me Mama or Mrs. Wilson like all of Sam’s other friends,” she insisted. Sam blushed but T’Challa chuckled. It was sweet, knowing that mothers were very similar regardless of whether they came from Wakanda or America. The few people T’Challa had brought home to his parents had all received very similar greetings. His father played the part of the gruff, serious old man while his mother got to be the sweet, doting one.

It was an act, of course. They both were some of the best people T’Challa knew and his father had never been that much of an old man. But T’Challa’s mother had also insisted that guests call her by her name or another casual title. It made him wonder if the two women would have gotten along before remembering that it was pointless to think about. 

When Mama Wilson pulled away, T’Challa was able to get a good look at her. Mama Wilson had Sam’s easy smile and his bright eyes. Her cheekbones were a bit sunken with age but it was simple to imagine how they must have looked when she was younger. There was no doubt that she had been beautiful and she was still rather attractive, though her hair was grayed. 

An abundance of wrinkles lined her eyes and lips from smiling so often and T’Challa wondered if Sam would have those when he grew older. Then he wondered why he cared.

“Really, you look like a natural Wilson-Diggs standing there. A bit tall, though. My own husband was only 5’ 10” and he complained about it every day,” Mama Wilson continued. She had a glass of something that was definitely not water in one hand but seemed perfectly sober. Either that or she just hid it very well. T’Challa wasn’t counting that out.

“I take that as the utmost compliment, ma’am.” T’Challa hesitated. “Mrs. Wilson, that is.” She laughed, slapped him on the arm, and told him to treat her son right. Then she was gone almost as fast as she had arrived. T’Challa let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. Sam mirrored him.

“That went well,” Sam decided. “Also, we can leave now, if you’d like. Since she officially saw us and met you, she can’t complain one bit.” T’Challa recognized that Sam needed to leave but didn’t want to say as much. 

So he resisted the urge to hug him and instead led him out to the car. It took a moment to get Sam’s car keys but soon they were on the highway, T’Challa in the driver’s seat while his boyfriend sat next to him. Their fingers were intertwined and Sam’s special playlist was on, playing soothing music in the background that didn’t remind him one bit of the desert or fighting. 

They were about an hour into their drive when Sam’s phone vibrated softly in his pocket. He was calm enough to pull it out and he snorted. 

“It’s my sisters,” he explained as he replied to the group text. “They want to meet you next.” 

“And how do you feel about that?” T’Challa asked. If it was anything like the party then he would be tempted to decline for Sam’s sake. And, well, large gatherings of people didn’t appeal to T’Challa either when it came down to it.

Sam snorted and turned the phone towards T’Challa. The camera went off and T’Challa glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “They were a bunch of annoying girls and now they’re a bunch of annoying women, so don’t listen to anything they say.” A pause. “Oh, they’re coming over next week to my apartment. You’re invited. Obviously.”

T’Challa opened his mouth to ask if Sam was sure. After all, he had just gotten done with one major family event, surely he’d want more recovery time before the next? But then T’Challa thought about his own times with Shuri, his sister, and how they had grown up teasing and pranking one another to their parents’ chagrin. 

She was younger but never acted like it, giving as good as shot got when it came to insults and injury. As they grew older their playful bouts became more refined, and T’Challa still texted her regularly, but spending time together was never a chore. Then again, they were rarely in the same country; she had chosen to stay in Wakanda while T’Challa made a life for himself in America.

So if Sam’s relationship with his sisters was anything like T’Challa’s relationship with Shuri, perhaps it made sense.

“Are they younger than you?” T’Challa asked, choosing to avoid the question for now. 

Sam shook his head. “Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’ with his tongue. “Older. All three of them.”

There was a moment of silence before T’Challa took a chance to glance his boyfriend. He was happily texting his sisters, previous distress forgotten or pushed aside. 

They could talk later about what had happened and how T’Challa should behave around his sisters. For now, though, things were good. Really good.

**Three: ******

“How do I look?” T’Challa asked, pulling his boyfriend into a tight embrace. They exchanged soft, work-appropriate kisses before stepping apart to look at one another. T’Challa did his best to casually check Sam out and for once Sam seemed almost embarrassed. He ducked his head and even blushed. “You are beautiful tonight,” T’Challa added. 

“Thank you.” Sam recovered with his usual charm, winking and unabashedly looking T’Challa up and down. 

Galas and fundraisers were not T’Challa’s favorite part of the job by any definition of the word. He disliked the need to chat with boring rich people who thought they knew something about cats and felt it their duty to tell him all about their knowledge. It was a bore and, even worse, T’Challa had to be polite. At least when he was among fellow academics he could be as passive-aggressive as he wanted.

The only good part about these formal events was that T’Challa had a reason to dress in a full suit. He always looked nice, but there were some things he had to save for times like these. Which was a pity, really; T’Challa wasn’t blind nor was he modest enough to pretend he didn’t look attractive in formalwear. 

Something Sam was quickly learning, it seemed. 

“So what do I need to do to get you to wear that more often?” Sam asked, waggling his eyebrows. T’Challa laughed, drawing the attention of several people nearby. 

“For you, Sam, I would wear anything.” This earned a laugh out of Sam and T’Challa smiled. Before their flirting could continue, someone came up to T’Challa and slung an arm around his shoulders. 

“T’Challa! I have been looking for you everywhere.” It was the one and only Tony Stark. He liked to come to different charity events and throw money at them. That is to say, Pepper Potts, one of the few sane people who could stand working closely with the man, liked to attend charity events and give Stark’s money to people who needed it. T’Challa didn’t care; most of the grants and funds that the zoo got were in one way or another thanks to the Stark Foundation. 

Less savory people had given T’Challa money before. And though Tony Stark was many things, for the most part he was a good man. He no longer openly sold missiles at least, or other weapons of mass destruction, which was more than some of the other donors could claim. 

“Tony Stark, what a pleasure to see you here. Is Pepper with you?” T”Challa asked, stepping away from the embrace. It didn’t matter if it was meant casually or not, they were not close enough for T’Challa to feel comfortable touching Stark. As if he could chase the feeling of Stark’s grasp, T’Challa reached out and squeezed Sam’s hand. 

Of course this did not go unnoticed by Stark, who raised an eyebrow. T’Challa had a temporary moment of fear that the man would turn out to be homophobic before remembering that the Stark Foundation had donating five hundred thousand dollars to various groups promoting queer rights. 

So, naturally, Stark’s interest was of a much more… obnoxious nature. “And who is this? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” He grinned and extended a hand. Sam shook it, looking a bit wary but not star-struck, which T’Challa decided was a good thing. Stark was one of the biggest names to come to these events, but he was not the biggest. 

T’Challa liked to think he was more important than Stark. In certain circles, he was. 

That didn’t matter in the least to Sam, who had recovered enough to introduce himself. He shook hands with Stark, doing his best to get eye contact with the man. It was a difficult task considering that Stark was wearing sunglasses. 

“Sam Wilson. I’m here as T’Challa’s…” Sam trailed off, glancing at his boyfriend. T’Challa realized with a start that Sam was waiting for him to take the lead, to decide whether they were going to be friends or boyfriends or partners or what. Sometimes he missed the ease that Wakandan provided; there were none of these unclear terms. Everything was defined nicely. 

Still, being trapped with English gave T’Challa the opportunity to smile a rare smile. He brought up Sam’s hand, the one he was holding, and kissed the back of it. “He is my boyfriend,” T’Challa clarified, unashamed. 

Stark nodded once, twice. “Cool.” He snapped his fingers and pulled off his sunglasses. T’Challa wondered why the man wore them inside when it clicked. It was for the sake of appearances; style affected this decision just like it affected all of Stark’s other choices. “You’re the one who helped Steve create this thing, right?”

Sam nodded slowly. T’Challa resisted the urge to chuckle. It had taken a few drinks, but eventually the truth behind the matter had been revealed and T’Challa still found it amusing. Then again, it let him meet this wonderful person, so he wasn’t complaining at all. That didn’t make the story less funny though.

Also, it just furthered T’Challa’s belief that Sam was the best person on earth. T’Challa didn’t know what it was like to live with any kind of trauma but the fact that Sam braved his to help a friend… Well, one didn’t need to be a professional to know how incredible that was. At least, T’Challa thought so.

“I like it. You should tell him to give me a call. The Stark Foundation is thinking of going into supporting veterans more and he’s got this wholesome apple pie thing going on, very mainstream.” Stark was blabbering and T’Challa and Sam exchanged looks. Unfortunately after many years of doing this, T’Challa was used to it and was ready to settle in for the long haul. One he got started, Stark didn’t stop until he needed a new drink or someone stopped him. 

“Not that you don’t, of course, but seeing as he did all the hard work and you just helped influence him I figured he’d be the one I talk to. Also, I might see him later but I’m sort of hoping that I could convince Pep to leave early. No offense to you, of course, I just have a raging headache--”

“Oh, Tony!’ It was Pepper Potts, one of the few people at these galas that T’Challa looked forward to seeing. “Hello, T’Challa. I’m sure you’ll be hearing this a lot, but congratulations on the panthers. The exhibit looks wonderful and I know you’ll do a great job with it.” She turned to Sam and smiled at him. It was warm and friendly, yet absolutely professional. T’Challa could respect that.

“You must be the one and only Pepper Potts,” Sam greeted, a smile on his face as well. He had a way of lighting up the whole room with a look, T’Challa had long since decided, but seeing it in person never grew old. “My name’s Sam Wilson. I helped the artist, Steve Rogers.” 

“Of course, yes. The mural looks absolutely fantastic. I hope to see Mr. Rogers at some point during the night. Do you know if he’s here yet?” Neither Sam nor T’Challa knew, though Sam did say that Steve was due to arrive soon and would probably plant himself near the refreshments. Pepper nodded and pat Tony on the arm.

“It sounds just like this one and the bar. Now, if you don’t mind gentlemen, I’m going to take Tony and get him to talk to Mr. Fury. Have a good night.” With that, the whirlwind that was Tony Stark disappeared, pulled away by his redheaded guardian. 

Sam let out a breath and turned to face his boyfriend. “That was Tony Stark.” T’Challa nodded, unsure of where this was going. “You introduced me to Tony Stark as your boyfriend.” A stab of doubt went through T’Challa. 

Had Sam not wanted to tell anyone? Was he even out? T’Challa had assumed so because of how open he was around family, but perhaps he didn’t want to risk it getting back to him at work? Americans had strange laws and beliefs concerning sexuality and gender, something T’Challa had taken time to get used to and was still surprised by on a regular basis.

“You know Tony Stark. And Pepper Potts. The richest man in America and the person who’s basically his wife.” Oh. Now it made sense. T’Challa nodded and squeezed Sam’s hand again.

“I apologize if you were caught off-guard. I should have told you that there would be many important guests tonight.” Sam let out a low laugh and stepped back, actually shaking his head.

“Important -- anyone else coming you want to tell me about? Like the president? Oprah? My old C.O?” Sam asked, sounding like he was only half joking. T’Challa shook his head and took a quick glance around the room. The city mayor was there, as were a few important scientists but no one else on Stark’s level. The panther exhibit wasn’t the biggest gala T’Challa had been to, but he wasn’t about to mention that.

Instead he just pointed out that Steve had arrived and, yes, Sam had been correct. The artist was currently trying to eat an entire tray of shrimp without being seen, a feat that was rather difficult considering he was over six feet tall and had a shoulder to hip ratio that T’Challa had never seen before. 

He was taken, not blind; anyone with eyes could tell that Steve was attractive.

Not as much as Sam, of course. That was something T’Challa made very clear in as many ways as he could. Words, mostly, but T’Challa liked to think the constant kisses and affection helped too.

“Let’s say hello before the reporters get to him,” T’Challa suggested. Sam just seemed relieved that they were going to be doing something other than standing around and waiting for people to come to them. If he came to more galas, he was in for a rude awakening. They weren’t anything like what spy movies made them out to be and most of the company wasn’t very good either. 

When they went over to Steve, the look of relief on his face was almost heartbreaking. “Thank god, people I know.” He turned to Sam, eyes wide. “Tony Stark is here. _Tony Stark_.” Sam nodded and gestured at T’Challa. 

“I know. This one talked to him and introduced us.” T’Challa didn’t laugh when Steve’s mouth dropped open, but it was close. “Tony Stark probably knows me as T’Challa’s boyfriend now,” Sam added, tone of voice sounding as if that was a bad thing. It wasn’t and they both knew that, but T’Challa couldn’t help but tease him a little bit anyway.

“What would you have preferred me to say, my dear? That you were my partner? Stark would have started to ask you questions about the panthers.” Sam snorted and muttered something that was probably along the lines of ‘those damn cats.’ He was still bitter that they seemed to only show themselves to T’Challa and actively hid whenever Sam was looking for them.

T’Challa kept telling Sam that, if he really wanted, he should feed the panthers a few times. Sam, in turn, kept telling T’Challa that he’d touch the raw meat the same day he grew actual wings and flew. 

“Uh-huh, sure, kitty cat.” Sam froze and Steve stifled a laugh. It could have been in reaction to the nickname or to T’Challa’s face. He didn’t need a mirror to know that his expression was one of utmost shock and, yes, maybe a little bit of embarrassment. They had been dating for over two months now but most of their pet names were more typical things.

Not literal names that people might give to their pets. 

But it was cute, if T’Challa was honest with himself, and he had been called much worse things by much worse people. If it made Sam happy to nickname him in such a way, T’Challa would not complain. That didn’t mean he’d take it sitting down though.

“Why don’t I get us drinks, birdie? Anything you’d prefer?” T’Challa gave Sam a small smile and squeezed his hand. The look on Sam’s face was priceless. “It is a pleasure to see you, Steve. Your work on the mural was fantastic. I am sure everyone will love it.” 

“Thank you, T’Challa. This should be about you, though. I just painted a bit. You’re the one who brought the panthers here and did all the hard work,” Steve insisted. T’Challa shrugged. 

“As long as the exhibit is promoted and people learn about the creatures, I will be satisfied.” He turned back to Sam. “Now, about those drinks…” 

T’Challa ended up going to get all three of them something from the open bar, only a little worried about getting the drinks at all. Steve had asked for a beer and Sam had said for T’Challa to surprise him, but the bar was busy at best and chaotic at worst. It ended up taking him about fifteen minutes, mostly because one of the old women at the bsr recognized him from some article and had asked him questions. Usually T’Challa was more than ok being asked about his work, but he also was not usually holding three drinks in his hands.

After politely excusing himself, T’Challa was able to make his way back to where the others were. Bucky was there looking rather cleaned up and elegant in his suit and Steve was clearly much happier, but Sam was… off. T’Challa chalked it up to being left behind by his boyfriend and promised himself that he’d stay with Sam for the rest of the night. 

After all, this was hardly either of their favorite places to be. 

“Thanks,” Steve said as he took a grateful drink from the bottle handed to him. T’Challa didn’t say anything about how the shrimp tray had been decimated compared to before; Steve’s nerves were also manifesting themselves in the way he refused to hold still. 

“Miss me?” T’Challa asked his boyfriend, giving him a mixed drink and kissing his cheek. Sam shrugged.

“Eh, it was fine until he showed up,” Sam replied, gesturing towards Bucky. T’Challa smiled as the familiar sounds of argument washed over him. At first Bucky seemed hesitant. This was hardly the place for raised voices let alone childish insults. But the comfort of seeing something so normal clearly helped Steve too because he visibly relaxed, tension bleeding out of his body.

As soon as Bucky saw that, he engaged Sam in verbal battle full-heartedly. The only difference between this and what they usually did was that it remained an argument and not a miniature brawl. That, T’Challa had to admit, would have been a bit much.

“Excuse me,” someone interrupted. The four all turned to look at the person who had spoken at the same time. It was a reporter, her pass hanging around her neck. “I was wondering if I could interview Mr. Rogers and T’Challa?” The two men exchanged looks. T’Challa left it for Steve to decide. He had no issue with interviews, but he could understand if Steve was hesitant. 

After a moment, though, Steve aimed his brilliant smile at the reporter and nodded. “I would love to.” He handed his drink to Bucky and told him not to drink all of it. T’Challa downed the rest of his in a rather impressive gulp and set it on the table. Someone would come pick it up eventually. 

“We won’t be long,” he promised Sam, though he felt bad for leaving him so soon after returning. Sam did his best to pretend it didn’t bother him, giving T’Challa a nonchalant shrug.

“I’ll try not to get into a fight with Bucky while you’re gone.” That prompted T’Challa into smiling.

“I thought cat fights were my area of expertise.” With that, he turned and allowed himself to be led off to another part of the room. 

The reporter ended up being from the New York Times and she was doing some piece about the zoo and its conservation efforts, but most of the questions were aimed at Steve anyway. T’Challa, after years in the business, understood. It was easier to sell papers if there was an attractive Veteran artist on the front and talk about how he had learned so much. A boring scientist from Wakanda was only of interest to other boring scientists. 

That was fine, though. T’Challa didn’t care for fame or fortune or else he would have gone into business or politics. But he was a little annoyed that she was asking so few questions yet had pulled him away from his boyfriend. The bustle of people and the way T’Challa was standing made it impossible for him to see Sam, but in a way that might have been a good thing. He couldn’t guarantee that he’d be on his good behavior if he saw Sam anxiously pacing in a corner.

“I think that’s it, gentlemen. The article should be out on Monday’s paper. Here’s my card if you have any questions. Thank you very much,” the reporter finished, shaking their hands. Her eyes lingered on Steve for a moment but he didn’t notice, already turning around to go back to Bucky. T’Challa resisted the urge to roll his eyes and chose to just go find Sam.

He was not where T’Challa had last seen him. 

_Ok, he is just in the bathroom,_ T’Challa reasoned. That was a perfectly valid option and it made sense. After all, between the open bar and the good food, everyone was going to need to use it at some point that night. T’Challa resolved not to worry as he walked around, chatting here and there and doing his best to mingle. He had never been very good at small talk, preferring to engage others in meaningful discussion. 

On his first date with Sam he had managed to get Sam’s opinion on gun control, immigration, separation of church and state, and wildlife preservation programs. Even more impressive, in T’Challa’s opinion, was the fact that he had gotten Sam to agree to a second date. Most people were more than a little panicked when someone asked about their take on the latest Supreme Court ruling before dinner had even arrived.

So no, T’Challa was not good at small talk and he was most certainly not worried about Sam. Because Sam was a fully grown man who could handle himself and he did not need T’Challa babysitting him. That would be immature and rude. 

After ten minutes, T’Challa gave up trying to convince himself that he wasn’t at all concerned. He excused himself from a fascinating discussion on baseball teams, a game T’Challa had only basic knowledge of, and went to find Bucky and Steve.

“Have either of you seen Sam?” T’Challa asked in lieu of proper greeting. Steve and Bucky exchanged looks and Bucky shook his head. “Do you know where he might be? I haven’t seen him since the interview.” 

“After you left he said he was going to get more drinks. When he didn’t come back I thought he had met up with you,” Bucky admitted. T’Challa swallowed and nodded, thanking them anyway. “Have you texted him? Sam always has his phone on.” It was a demonstration of superb self-control that T’Challa did not facepalm, something he still blamed Bucky for teaching him about. 

Whipping out his phone, T’Challa quickly messaged Sam.

T’Challa: Just wondering where you are. 

T’Challa: Hope you’re ok. If you needed to leave that’s ok, just tell me that you’re safe. 

T’Challa: Text me back when you get these.

After a moment’s hesitation, T’Challa sent a few heart emoticons. 

He told himself that he was being irrational, that Sam was completely fine, and he shoved his phone back in his pockets as Charles Xavier came over. 

“Charles, what a pleasure to see you. I did not realize you would be here,” T’Challa called out, voice earnest. 

Unlike the rest of the rich and famous socialites, Charles actually cared about the issues he threw his money at. The man had a soft spot for wildlife ever since his family trips to safaris and preserves across the world. Ever since the accident that took his ability to walk, though, he was limited to where he could go. Trips to the zoo T’Challa worked at were one of the only ways he could still see the animals. 

“I almost didn’t. Erik’s flight got here early so he was able to bring me.” Charles smiled up at T’Challa. “Now you must tell me how you got approval for two endangered animals to be brought across the ocean…” 

The conversation flowed from there and T’Challa found himself engaged for the first time that night with someone who wasn’t Sam. Of course, as soon as he thought this he immediately realized that his phone hadn’t gone off and all semblance of a good mood was gone. He apologized to Charles, excusing himself by saying he needed to check on someone. Thankfully the man was understanding and waved T’Challa off. 

“I heard Tony Stark is here and I want to ask him if there has been progress on his work with bionic limbs,” he explained. With that, T’Challa was free.

He did his best to look dignified and not panicked as he dashed to the bathrooms, bursting in and making sure no one was in there before going to the ones a bit further in the building. By the time he was at the last one, a pair of single-stall gender neutral bathrooms tucked on the uppermost floor, T’Challa was definitely in panic mode. 

Had he done something to upset Sam? Had someone said something to Sam? Was T’Challa just a horrible person and a worse boyfriend and Sam had come to that realization in the middle of sipping his drink? Some combination of the above? 

He slid to a stop on the smooth floor. His phone vibrated and he pulled it out, almost dropping it in his haste. 

Sam: I’m fine, it was just a little too much so I left. I’ll text you in the morning. 

There was a single heart emoticon after it all, but somehow that made the messages look even sadder. T’Challa felt a bit sick but also relieved. At least Sam was ok, even if he wasn’t happy. Of course this sort of a gala would stress Sam out. Too many strangers, all wanting to talk, and no one familiar to rely on. 

_This is all my fault,_ T’Challa thought as he trudged back downstairs. And he had no idea how to fix it. 

So, like any well-adjusted and emotionally competent person, he didn’t mention it the next time he saw Sam. Or the time after that. Or after that. Really, he had no intention of asking about it unless Sam brought it up first. That seemed like the best course of action, so T’Challa was blindsided when Bucky showed up at the panther exhibit with a tour group, let them roam free, and pulled T’Challa aside.

“You need to talk to Sam,” Bucky hissed, glancing around to make sure no one could hear them. It was almost ridiculous how busy and loud the place was, so T’Challa was not concerned. He was much more worried about what Bucky was saying.

“I do talk to him,” T’Challa replied. “Every day.” Bucky looked like he was going to rip his own hair out. 

“I meant about the gala.” A pause. “I know that people think that us military guys don’t have feelings, but we do and sometimes we even need to work through them with other people. Usually that means therapy and group sessions and more than a few pills. Sometimes that means having our loved ones sit down and ask what’s wrong.” 

Bucky sighed and shook his head, demeanor shifting to one of a tired but concerned friend. “You make him really happy, T’Challa. I’ve only known him for a few months but Steve talks about him all the time and he says that no one has made Sam smile like you have. Don’t screw it up.”

T’Challa realized two things. One, he had somehow messed up with Sam. Two, he had no idea how he had messed up. “Can you tell me what I did at least?” He asked. Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Was it inviting him in the first place? Should I not bring him to places that might be stressful?” 

That earned a sharp laugh from Bucky. “T’Challa, after what we’ve been through anything is stressful. After I got this job I had to double my anxiety meds. But no, avoiding it won’t make things better. Just…” The look in his eyes softened. “Talk to him, ok?” 

T’Challa had never believed that Sam and Bucky disliked each other. Their friendship was just something he’d never understand. But sometimes there had been moments of doubt, especially when Sam talked about Bucky when the other was not there. Now, though, T’Challa recognized that there was a strange kind of loyalty there. 

They’d laugh at each other and make the other’s life hell, but no one else could do that. Only they could ruin the other person’s day. 

“All right. I will.” T’Challa swallowed and Bucky turned away, assuming the conversation was over. “And Bucky?” The brunette stilled. “Thank you. This means… It means a lot. That you would tell me this.” 

Bucky shrugged. “If you and Sam broke up, Steve would be heartbroken. No other reason. And if you tell Wilson any of this, I’ll deny it and break in here at night and vandalize the entire place.” They both knew it was an empty threat. They both also knew T’Challa would never tell Sam, not unless he asked. 

“Understood.” Still, T’Challa could play along. 

He texted Sam on his break. 

T’Challa: Can I come over tonight? Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to talk to you in person.  
Hoping that it didn’t sound like a break-up text, T’Challa sent it. The reply came back minutes later. 

Sam: Sure. 6:30? I’ll make dinner. 

The reply came mere minutes later and T’Challa was worried for a moment before remembering that today was Sam’s off day, he was allowed to just lie around next to his phone. 

There was no evidence that Sam had been lazy, though, when T’Challa came into his apartment. Everything was cleaned up, including Sam himself. He was wearing a pair of loose jeans and a clean, if well-worn, Air Force sweatshirt. T’Challa could smell something cooking on the stove but he didn’t recognize it. 

“Hello,” T’Challa greeted, pulling his boyfriend into a tight hug and kissing his cheek. Sam smiled but, now that he was taking a good look, there was a tightness in his eyes. “What did you cook today? Something delicious I hope.”

“As always,” Sam replied, pulling away and walking into the kitchen. T’Challa trailed behind as Sam started to explain what he had made, only to stop in the middle of a sentence. “It’s a new recipe I found online,” he finished. T’Challa raised an eyebrow and Sam gestured in the air. “Don’t worry about it.” 

T’Challa decided now wasn’t the time to push him. He watched, keeping up a bit of small talk as Sam finished up the stew and spooned it into bowls. The two of them sat next to each other at the table, knees knocking and chairs pressed together as close as possible.

But now that T’Challa knew something was wrong, he could see the signs. Sam was still laughing, but it came out forced and there was a sense of _fraud_ in the sound instead of his usual pure happiness. The conversation was stilted too, harder to keep going, and the silences seemed tense rather than natural. T’Challa found himself talking more and more to compensate, except he could tell he wasn’t helping. 

All he really could talk about for a while were cats but Sam seemed checked out, nodding every few seconds but not acknowledging anything in depth. T’Challa licked his lips, something that usually drew Sam’s eyes, but nothing happened. 

They finished eating dinner like this. T’Challa mentally cursed himself, wishing that he had the foresight to text Steve and ask for his advice. Not that Steve was much better at feelings and emotions and the like, but he might have known how to approach this with Sam. Now T’Challa was going in blind and hoping that he didn’t make things worse. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Sam asked as they finished cleaning, the last of the plates put away. Standing there, T’Challa was hit with how domestic this was and how much he liked it. They had long since gotten past needing to look nice in each other’s presence but seeing Sam in his baggy sweatshirt, in his dingy kitchen… 

T’Challa swallowed and shook his head. He needed to focus so that this wouldn’t be the last time he got to see this. 

“Can we sit on the couch?” Sam nodded, frown flickering on his face as they moved to the living room. T’Challa hesitated, tossing the words around in his head. “I… Is everything ok? With us?” A pause. There wasn’t a clock to tick or any crickets to chirp, but T’Challa imagined they would have had they been present. “You have been acting different ever since the gala and it’s concerning me. If something is wrong, please tell me? Otherwise I cannot make things better.”

He really wished that he knew what he was doing. Sam was the one with the degree in therapy. Then again, that didn’t mean he was any better with emotions and relationships. 

“Is this because I left early? I told you, I was just overwhelmed and I didn’t want to ruin your night so I left.” Sam was lying, T’Challa realized. He had never lied to T’Challa before and there was a moment of denial about it, but it was undeniable. Sam was lying. He had hesitated and he seemed to be avoiding T’Challa’s eyes. That had never happened before.

Sam was lying and T’Challa didn’t know what to do. 

“I… Is that all? I just was concerned because I cannot help but think you are acting… different than usual,” T’Challa pressed. Sam frowned further, taking one of T’Challa’s hands and squeezing it. 

“I’m fine, kitty cat. Really. You know how I get in crowds. Next time I’ll just be more prepared, ok?” _At least he’s suggesting there’s a next time,_ T’Challa thought. “Was that it?” Sam asked. T’Challa hesitated. “Babe? Is everything ok?” Sam was frowning because of him. That went against everything T’Challa tried to hold himself to. 

So he kissed Sam, slow and casual. He didn’t try to push it, didn’t feel like getting into anything heavy. This wasn’t the night for their first time, not by any standard. But he just needed to know that Sam was there, that Sam still cared for him. 

That their relationship wasn’t just something T’Challa had managed to make up in his head. 

When they pulled away, Sam smiled. “Hey, if all our deep conversations are gonna end like that, we need to have them more often.” T’Challa rolled his eyes and told Sam to put Netflix on. They still had another three seasons of Breaking Bad to catch up on; Sam had been shocked when T’Challa admitted to never having watched a single episode. Now it was one of their ‘things,’ along with eating dinner together and going on walks around the zoo. 

They were ten minutes into the episode when Sam spoke up again. “You don’t care that I work at the VA, right?” T’Challa frowned, pausing the television. 

“What do you mean?” Sam swallowed, not looking at his boyfriend. 

“Just, you’re _you._ A brilliant scientist, super famous with big, fancy galas. You talk to Tony Stark like he’s an old friend. Reporters want to talk to you about what you do and they actually listen. When you tell people what you do, it interests them. There’s a…” Sam struggled to find the right word. “A prestige that comes from being you. Hell, you graduated from Oxford.” 

T’Challa wasn’t sure where Sam was going with this, but he knew he didn’t like it. He didn’t interrupt though. He got the feeling that Sam had been stewing about this for a while, that this was something he needed to get off his chest. 

“I got my degree after six years in the air force. The only reason I was able to go to college was because of the G.I. bill. When I tell people where I work, they nod politely and move on. Or they ask me where I served or try to thank me or -- they respect me, but not really. Like I’m someone cool and vaguely interesting, but they don’t respect me. They respect what I’ve done but that’s it. Anyone can hold a gun and jump out of a plane.” Sam muttered the last part and the bitterness seeped into his voice. T’Challa wondered if someone had told him that before.

Then he realized that someone probably had. 

“I’m sorry.” Sam blew out a puff of air. “You don’t need to say anything. It’s not a big deal. I’m just… I’ll be fine. I just needed to say that. See,” he forced a smile, “I already feel better.” T’Challa looked at him for a moment before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. 

He buried his face in the crook of Sam’s neck, breathing in his scent and hoping that he could physically convey everything he didn’t have words to say. The embrace was returned, Sam wrapped his arms around T’Challa and holding him just as tightly. Neither of them said anything.

T’Challa couldn’t help but feel like he should be comforting Sam more, but he wasn’t sure what to say. His thoughts stewed in his head, rolling around and churning in his mind just like the rolling in his stomach. 

Finally, after a good long silence, T’Challa pulled away. He cupped Sam’s cheek and looked him right in the eyes. 

“You are the most wonderful, intelligent, kindhearted person I know. There is no one in the world I would rather be with.” T’Challa paused, thinking about how the last few months had been. They were the happiest he had been since his parents died and Sam had certainly been the best boyfriend T’Challa had ever had. 

But how did he explain that? How did T’Challa explain how happy the constant cat videos made him? How much he appreciated going over to Sam’s apartment and curling up on his couch? The fact that Sam’s cooking was the only thing, besides Wakandan food, that could make T’Challa a little less homesick? That Sam inspired T’Challa to be better, to be more selfless, to try to be as good a person as his boyfriend?

It was love, T’Challa realized. He was in love with Sam Wilson. 

And he was glad. 

“I love you,” T’Challa said. Sam froze. He blinked, pulled away slightly, and stared at T’Challa. “I understand if this is too soon, but I love you, Sam Wilson. You are the most amazing person I know and I do not want to be with anyone else. I’m sorry you feel so -- so inadequate, but please be assured that I do not think of you that way. To me, you are the best person.” 

Sam swallowed. “You…. Even though I work at the VA and don’t have a doctorate?” He half-joked, but it was weak. T’Challa crushed him in a hug again, kissing his cheek, his temple, his jaw. 

“I love you because you work at the VA. You have so much to be proud of, Sam. Everything about you, I love. Your cat videos, your puns, even the way you and Bucky can’t spend five minutes in each other’s company without trying to fight. I promise I’m not saying this because I think you need to hear it.” T’Challa kissed him once more, chaste on the lips. “I’m saying this because I mean it and it took this for me to realize that.” 

There was a moment of silence and T’Challa feared that he had horribly, horribly miscalculated. Sam didn’t feel the same way and he was going to panic and now their relationship was ruined because T’Challa couldn’t keep his mouth shut. This was the end and T’Challa had just realized he loved Sam Wilson. 

Then Sam kissed him back, slow and lazy, but deep and with love. They explored each other’s mouths, hands not roaming quite yet. It wasn’t the most they had done but there was an edge of something else now, something more. 

When they pulled apart, T’Challa was breathless and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride that Sam was as well. 

“You really mean it,” Sam breathed, as if he still couldn’t believe it. T’Challa found that he wasn’t as bothered by that as he thought he would be. Rather, he just made it his job to ensure Sam heard it every day until he knew, without a doubt, that T’Challa loved him. 

“I do. I really do.” T’Challa smiled and squeezed Sam’s hand. Their fingers were entwined. It was nice. Something small and little and peaceful. “I love you and I promise that you do not need to worry about not being enough for me. You are more than enough. I am always stunned that you are interested in me.” 

“You?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen yourself? Or read your Wikipedia page? Seriously, you’re the definition of a perfect person and you’re wondering why I’m into you?” T’Challa couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You read my Wikipedia page?” He teased. Sam blushed.

“Not the point!” He licked his lips and T’Challa couldn’t help but glance down at them. He tried not to be a materialistic person, but he couldn’t be blamed if Sam’s physical attributes also drew him. They certainly didn’t hurt. 

Sam noticed and licked his lips again, this time slow and sultry. T’Challa had never even thought something could be sultry, not even an attractive man doing attractive things. He didn’t have time to act, though, because Sam smiled and kissed T’Challa on the nose. 

“I love you too, kitty cat. I can’t promise that I won’t still feel like you could do better or that I’m not good enough, but… I’ll try, ok?” T’Challa nodded and motioned for Sam to turn around. Amused, he did so and didn’t complain as T’Challa wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. 

The two sat there, cuddling, T’Challa hoping that Sam felt warm and comfortable and reassured. Everything that Sam deserved to feel and T’Challa could only hope that he provided. 

They rested there for a while, the silence now peaceful. Eventually, though, Sam shifted and turned so he could look at T’Challa.

“Are you gonna be mad if I turn the TV on again?” Sam asked. T’Challa laughed and nosed his neck, kissing the skin there.

“Anything you want, birdie. Anything.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, I'm done with the story :D Am I going to add to it? Maybe. No promises though.
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr [here!](http://thepoetofjustice.tumblr.com/ask)

**Four:**

T’Challa liked to think that he was a patient man. He could wait for rare cats to show themselves, peering through the bushes for hours if that is what it took, for science. And that same characteristic applied to his relationships. He had been dating Sam for almost half a year now, just coming up to their six month mark, and that was great. T’Challa had no problems with that. In fact, he hoped for many more anniversaries.

What did concern him was the fact that they hadn’t gone much farther than just necking and making out. Not even a quick handjob on the couch or _anything._

It was enough for T’Challa to stop thinking that Sam just wasn’t pushy and to start thinking that something was wrong. Did Sam not find him attractive? Was Sam asexual? There was no problem with the latter, but T’Challa liked to think that Sam trusted him enough to just say so. 

If it was the former, well, that was another issue entirely.

He wasn’t quite close enough with Steve to come out and admit his worries, but they had spent enough time together to consider the other a friend. And, importantly, Steve was friends with Sam.

“Has Sam mentioned anything to you about Friday?” T’Challa asked. Steve was waiting at the panther exhibit for his boyfriend to get off work. It was common to see Steve around the zoo, to the point where he had just gotten a year pass. Well, Bucky had gotten it for him, but close enough.

Steve looked up from his sketchbook. “No? Why?” He was lying, T’Challa could tell, but he got the feeling that Sam really hadn’t mentioned anything that T’Challa wanted to hear. He was more than content to let his boyfriend keep a few surprises for their little date; T’Challa had more than a few himself. 

He was especially hoping that this would be their first time, but he didn’t want to plan for that only to find out that Sam had a much different idea. 

“I was just curious,” T’Challa replied, dropping the subject. Steve seemed content with that and neither of them brought it up again. 

Bucky, of course, had no inhibitions in this matter. “So, you and Sam going to do anything fun this Friday?” He asked after he kissed Steve more thoroughly than was probably appropriate. No one else was there except for T’Challa, though, so it wasn’t like he was going to get reported.

Public displays of affection just made T’Challa uncomfortable when they weren’t _his_ public displays of affection. 

“We’re meeting at his apartment and then he’s driving us to dinner. After that, he has most of the plans.” T’Challa understood now that Sam needed to feel useful and impressive when it came to dates. Really, T’Challa would have made rather elaborate plans had it been up to him, so he could not begrudge Sam the same. 

“Uh-huh. Well, have fun and don’t do anything Steve and I wouldn’t do.” This was accompanied by a trademark Bucky smirk. T’Challa rolled his eyes. 

“Go spend time with your boyfriend, James. What I do with Sam is none of your business.” There was no heat in his words, though, so Bucky just laughed and pulled Steve away. T’Challa told himself that he was not worried about Friday, not at all, because there was no reason to be worried. 

Sure, this was only one of two relationships that had ever gotten this far and this was the only relationship where T’Challa felt like he could marry his partner one day, but that wasn’t anything to induce anxiety. It wasn’t like Sam was going to break up with him on their six month anniversary. No, that really wasn’t one of T’Challa’s concerns.

He was much more preoccupied with the fact that he had no idea what Sam was planning and, with his luck, T’Challa would end up ruining the night with his advances.

God, he hoped that wasn’t the case. 

T’Challa was still hoping as he pulled up to Sam’s apartment on Friday night, a bouquet of red roses in the passenger’s seat. The flowers were not symbols of love in Wakanda, but T’Challa was doing his best to not bring too much of his own culture into this. Well, he had given Sam little tokens of his affection that were common in Wakanda, all of which now were lined up on Sam’s desk in the VA, but nothing major. 

This was partially due to the fact that it was hard to get things from Wakanda anywhere that wasn’t, well, Wakanda. T’Challa wasn’t quite ready to ask Shuri for help. Though she knew about Sam, had known since they were dating for two months, but he was not prepared for her to know this was serious.

She had been talking about coming to visit and T’Challa would prefer that visit didn’t include interrogating his boyfriend. 

“Hi,” Sam breathed as he opened the door, eyes widening as he took in the roses and T’Challa’s cleaned-up appearance. They both were wearing nice clothes, nothing too fancy, but still enough to pass for formal. T’Challa wore the tie that ‘brought out his eyes’ as Sam had said once. 

Sam, of course, looked good enough to eat. He was wearing a silver button up underneath a black jacket, a dark gray tie pulling it all together. His slacks matched his jacket and there wasn’t a single crease out of place. T’Challa knew that Sam didn’t own anything that nice which meant he had gone out and gotten it just for that night. 

A surge of adoration rushed over T’Challa and he kissed his boyfriend, ignoring the way the roses were crushed between them and pressed into his chest at an almost painful angle. When they pulled apart, there was a sharp blush in Sam’s cheeks. 

If not for the fact that he knew Sam was excited about his plans, T’Challa would have given up on his and taken Sam right there and then. 

He was a patient man but, well, some things could really test that.

Apparently Sam in a specially-bought suit was one of those things. He hadn’t even worn something so nice for the gala, all those months ago. 

“I’m glad to see too, kitty cat.” Sam smiled and stepped aside, letting T’Challa follow him. The apartment was spotless, kitchen empty. That was almost strange; so often there was something cooking, either dessert or dinner, whenever T’Challa was over. They had chosen to go out to eat for just that reason, though. 

This was supposed to be a special night and that meant doing things they weren’t quite used to.

“So do I get to know where we’re going that I needed to dress up?” T’Challa asked, motioning to his own attire. Sam shook his head, putting the roses in a vase. “Am I going to feel underdressed?” T’Challa continued. Now that he was about to find out all of Sam’s plans, he felt no hesitation about asking. 

“You look amazing,” Sam promised. He stepped into T’Challa’s space and kissed him, hands dropping down and wrapping around T’Challa’s waist. They stayed above his ass though, so T’Challa behaved himself. He may have let out a soft moan as Sam nipped his bottom lip, but that was just a human reaction. “Now come on, we have reservations and we don’t want to be late.” 

With that, Sam pulled away and walked out the front door. T’Challa sighed, composed himself, and followed. He wasn’t sure what to expect but he trusted Sam. Regardless of what was planned, he knew that he would enjoy it. 

T’Challa wasn’t sure what to expect, however, when they pulled up to a little dinner with flickering lights and a neon sign saying ‘Cafe Lalibela’ out front. There were a few cars parked outside but it was not at all busy despite being a Friday night. As they parked, T’Challa saw someone come out of the restaurant with a bag of food and get into a car, presumably to make a delivery. 

“What is this place?” T’Challa asked, more confused than anything else. Sam swallowed and gave him a small smile. It was a bit forced but T’Challa had the feeling that was out of nerves more than anything else.

“So, uh, nowhere actually serves Wakandan cuisine and I would have just cooked some except you made me promise not to cook anything, so I did a bit of research and. Um. This is probably the closest we’ll get?” There was a moment of silence as T’Challa processed Sam’s words. “If you hate it then we can go somewhere else. I didn’t really make reservations anywhere, I just thought you might like to eat something that’s not American or Italian or whatever, and seeing you in a suit is really nice so--”

“Sam?” 

“Yes?” 

“I love it.” T’Challa leaned over the gearshift and kissed Sam. “Let’s go in, I’m sure they have many delicious foods for us to try.” He hadn’t had Wakandan food in years, it felt. Cooking was not his strong suit. But Ethiopian was also familiar, and he appreciated the gesture. Besides, it was nice to know that they wouldn’t really be eating at some fancy, five-star joint. They got to be quite stuffy after a while.

The rest of the night passed in a beautiful series of events. Inside, Cafe Lalibela was actually quite nice, with tasteful decorations and matching furniture. They were still out of place in their suits, but the staff seemed to be more amused than anything else. Sam ordered a series of appetizers and T’Challa got them different main plates, just in case one of them didn’t like his food, but everything came out perfectly and was devoured. 

T’Challa and Sam both avoided alcohol. After all, Sam was driving back and T’Challa wanted his wits about him for the rest of their anniversary celebration. He didn’t want anything to go wrong.

They did end up skipping out on dessert, too full to possibly consume anything else. It was already getting rather late in the night, close to when the restaurant would be closing, so the two left after finishing their meal. 

Instead of immediately driving back to Sam’s place, though, Sam led T’Challa to a nearby park where they wandered around. The street lights were the only source of illumination, the sky too distant and too covered in city smog for any stars to shine through. Even the moon was barely visible behind dark clouds. Still, it was peaceful and they were able to just talk and be together, hand in hand. 

It was nice in a way that T’Challa knew he would never be able to articulate. He was not bad with words, but something about being around Sam made every poem and every song pale in comparison. The only way T’Challa could describe it would be as if his whole life was leading up to these little moments, these slivers of time spent together, except the real thing made the fiction and the past fade and pale. 

Everything else was in grayscale; T’Challa was only able to see color when he was with Sam. 

They did not stay out too late, though. Sam kept hinting that he had something else at the apartment for T’Challa and, well, T’Challa had many plans of his own that still needed to happen. So there was no complaint from him when Sam let out an exaggerated yawn and suggested that they return to the car so they could drive home. 

T’Challa liked Sam’s apartment. Not enough to want to move in. Not yet at least. Besides, his own home was perfectly fine. So perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he liked the person who lived in the apartment, who gave it life. The person who neatly lined his shoes up by the door but also threw his jackets all over the living room, none hanging on the rack by the entryway. The person who kept the kitchen spotless only to mess it up making anything from brownies to roast chicken.

The person who opened the door, disappeared into the bedroom for a moment, and came out holding a small box. 

Sam smiled, sheepish, as he held it out. “It isn’t much. I just thought you might like it.” T’Challa took it and shook it a little, raising an eyebrow at how light it was. There wasn’t even a sound from inside. “Open it,” Sam prompted.

T’Challa took it as all the encouragement he needed and he tore the paper off, setting it aside and pulling the ribbon loose. The top came off of the box and he peered inside, curious. Admittedly, of all the things he was expecting a small plushie of a falcon, wings tucked up against its sides, was not one of them.

It was maybe the size of his hand, clearly meant for a child, and something that could have been sold at the zoo gift shop for all he knew. But T’Challa also knew that he loved it and that he would put it on his bedside table, able to look at it every time he missed his boyfriend.

“Thank you,” T’Challa said, setting it aside and pulling Sam into a tight hug. “It’s just like you, but more polite.” Sam laughed and T’Challa felt his heart warm up. It was nice to hear that sound ring true. It was even better to know that he was the cause of it. “I got you something as well. Not nearly as cute, but I hope you still like it.”

Sam waited, patient, as T’Challa reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of his own. It was much smaller, though still too large for a ring, and almost flat. Rather than being wrapped a small golden clasp kept it shut. The box itself was wood, hand carved and unpolished. It was rough to the touch and when Sam took it, he held it gingerly, as if he expected there to be splinters.

T’Challa was no craftsman, but he liked to think that he could smooth a surface enough to be safe to handle. 

The only noise was the soft click the clasp made as it was released. Sam opened the box and stared at the necklace inside. It was a simple thing made out of silver links, a smooth pendant in the center. It was oval in shape and around the edge was a Wakandan message of love and hope. In the center was the symbol of the panther, Wakanda’s national animal and the creature much of its culture and religion was based off of.

T’Challa’s father had given a very similar pendant to his mother, several months before asking her to marry him. It was an essential part of Wakandan courtship. One person, regardless of gender, gave a pendant to the other. Accepting it meant agreeing that this relationship was more than just serious, it was one with the intention of marrying some day.

There was little chance that Sam knew this, of course, and T’Challa had toyed with the idea of letting him remain ignorant. But that would have been unfair to both of them, so before Sam could say anything T’Challa explained just what it meant.

By the end, the two stood in silence. Sam seemed stunned. That was the only way to describe it. Not horrified, which T’Challa decided was good, and most decidedly not disgusted. Just… Shocked. Unable to come up with a reply.

“If this is too much for you, please do not hesitate to reject it. Many relationships take time and it is quite common for the pendant to be rejected several times before it’s accepted, if ever, and I will not be--”

“You want to marry me some day?” Sam whispered, cutting T’Challa’s words off with ease. T’Challa swallowed and nodded. “But… why?” And oh, how those two words broke T’Challa’s heart.

He stepped forward, taking Sam’s hands in his own, and squeezed them. For all of his regular bravado, these were the moments where Sam let his walls down and admitted that he felt out of his depth. He didn’t feel adequate and he didn’t think T’Challa could love him. The times where he thought this were fewer than they had been, but Sam still had them and T’Challa knew there was a chance they would never go away.

That was all right. T’Challa had no plans to leave either.

“Because you are the most amazing, kindhearted, loving person I know. Because I need only think about you and I am happy. Because you bring me out to eat food that reminds me of home even though you would happily eat burgers and fries for the rest of your life.” T’Challa kissed him, sweet and soft, on the lips. “Because I am in love with you and I do not see that changing.”

“You’re a fucking sap,” Sam muttered, but he didn’t try to convince T’Challa that he was wrong. “I love you too.” He buried his head in the crook of T’Challa’s neck and murmured something that was eaten up by the suit jacket.

“Birdie, I didn’t hear you.” T’Challa had expected any number of responses, but for some reason the one he got had not crossed his mind.

“I want to have sex.” Sam blushed, not meeting T’Challa’s eyes. “Tonight. I… You’ve been waiting for the right moment. I think this is it.” 

T’Challa kissed the top of Sam’s head. “I think you are correct.” He shrugged his jacket off and set it against the couch in one fluid motion, Sam just about copying him. Sam set the box and pendant aside and it gleamed against the dark felt it was lying against. 

The two made their way to Sam’s bedroom, ties discarded and shoes and socks kicked off. As T’Challa made to take Sam’s shirt off, he was stopped by a pair of strong hands and a pair of mischievous eyes.

“You first,” Sam said, pushing T’Challa back against the headboard. With nimble fingers, Sam was able to unbutton the shirt and pushed it aside, eager to get his hands against T’Challa’s chest. He was not a very muscular man; his occupation did not give him much time to go to the gym. Still, he liked to think that he was not unattractive and he did know that he was in better shape than many in his field.

That wasn’t saying much, but still. 

The look on Sam’s face reflected none of that. He seemed to be gazing at the secret to life itself, or perhaps the physical manifestation of beauty. His jaw went slack and his eyes softened. Sam slowly, carefully, as if moving too fast would cause T’Challa to disappear, pressed feather-light kisses along T’Challa’s collarbone and then down his chest, pausing against his stomach.

“You’re beautiful,” Sam breathed. T’Challa blushed further and pulled Sam up for another kiss. 

This one held none of the chaste tenderness. That feeling was replaced with passionate love, a sort of desperation that filled both of them until it felt like the room was burning.

T’Challa felt almost powerless as he was shed of the rest of his clothes and Sam went about taking him into his mouth as if T’Challa was holy communion and Sam a loyal devotee. 

It wasn’t until the next morning, waking up to a sweet kiss and a warm embrace, that T’Challa realized they hadn’t slept together at all. 

In fact, Sam hadn’t taken his shirt off, let alone gotten off. 

Unsure of how to broach the subject, but knowing by now that sooner was better, T’Challa waited until they had both had their first cups of coffee. Sam was truly adorable in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Personally, T’Challa was more than content wearing clothes that smelled like his boyfriend, in his boyfriend’s apartment, for the rest of the day. Cuddling seemed like a good idea, especially since they both had that Saturday off.

But this was an important conversation, something in T’Challa’s mind told him, and he was determined not to put it off.

“Are you asexual?” T’Challa blurted out as Sam sat next to him, toast in one hand and butter knife in the other. 

Sam stared at him. “Um, I sort of gave you a blowjob last night. So I’m going to go with no. If you missed that, we might have to talk about that.” He was half-teasing but the look on his face was one of serious shock. 

T’Challa shook his head. “No, well, I just -- you haven’t slept with me. Even though you said we would last night. You didn’t let me return the favor either.” He hesitated. “If you are nervous or wish not to, that’s fine, I just would like to know so I don’t make things uncomfortable.”

“We’re literally sitting in my dining room talking about my sexual preferences. It doesn’t get much weirder than this.” Sam’s joke fell flat this time and even he could sense that this was not the time. “Listen, it definitely is not you. At all. You’re, like, the hottest guy I’ve ever been with. Plus you’re also the kindest and most intelligent which, not going to lie, is a huge turn on. So it’s definitely not you.”

“But?” T’Challa prompted. Sam let out a puff of air.

“But I have a lot of. Of. Stuff.” T’Challa instantly felt bad. He didn’t know all of the details of Sam’s service, but if something about sexual encounters made him uncomfortable, then of course it made sense that he would want to avoid them. “No, not like that. Nothing bad happened, I still really like sex it’s just.” Sam motioned to himself but only got a blank look in return. 

He let out another breath of air. This one was longer, drawn out, like he was trying to blow up a balloon. “I told you about Riley.”

_Oh._ T’Challa, of course, knew about Sam’s wingman. How he had been shot out of the air right in front of Sam and how Sam had been powerless to do anything except watch. 

“I, uh, I was in a pretty bad place after but I still went on missions. Turns out seeing a friend get killed in front of you isn’t enough to earn you some leave.” Sam let out a dark laugh. “It’s not enough to get you some therapy either, apparently. So I, uh, I was flying a bit more reckless than usual.” He paused, breathing in and out steadily. It took T’Challa a moment to realize he was grounding himself.

He took Sam’s hand in his own and squeezed. A moment later, Sam returned the gesture. It wasn’t much, but it was something and Sam gave him a thankful look.

“I’m fine, obviously. But I got hit a few times and almost didn’t make it. Nothing directly life threatening, but it’s hard to fly when you’ve got a bullet in your chest and you’re bleeding out.” Sam took his hand back and started to pull off his shirt, nerves making his fingers tremble. It took him a minute but T’Challa didn’t try to help; he could sense this was something that Sam needed to do himself.

Slowly but surely, Sam’s shirt came off. He set it aside and turned so T’Challa could see, though Sam didn’t meet his eyes. 

T’Challa wasn’t blind, he could tell why Sam was so anxious. There were several obvious circles where bullets must have gone in, as well as a long scar from his left pectoral to the top of his stomach. It wasn’t pretty. Not clean or smooth or elegant like they were pictured in movies. They were ragged and pale against his otherwise dark skin, clear marks of the war he had been through. 

But despite the horror that T’Challa knew they must hold, he couldn’t help but think they made Sam look even stronger. He had gotten through something T’Challa couldn’t even imagine and he was still brave enough to be so open, so vulnerable, for another person. 

Someone he loved. 

“You’re beautiful,” T’Challa murmured, kissing Sam and running his hands up and down his sides. “I love you because of who you are. And these,” he pressed his fingers against the scars, “are part of you. Just as much as your cat puns and your intelligence and your heart. I would never be disgusted by something that is a part of you,” T’Challa promised.

Sam let out a nervous laugh. He stood and wrapped his arms around T’Challa’s neck, not quite straddling him but still clear with his intentions. “Why don’t you show me how you feel?” He asked, his confidence not quite overshadowing the way his smirk seemed forced or the way his pulse was racing. 

So T’Challa took him and made it very clear just how he felt about one Sam Wilson.

**Five:**

“Do you miss Wakanda?” Sam asked one day. T’Challa nodded. The sun filtered through the clouds, lighting their way as they walked through the zoo. It was T’Challa’s lunch break and, regardless, he didn’t have much to do. “When was the last time you went back?” 

“A few years ago,” T’Challa replied. “There are very few flights that go to Wakanda and they are not cheap.” Sam nodded and the conversation moved on. 

That was a week ago. 

T’Challa knew something was up and he assumed it had to do with the conversation. It made sense that Sam was curious about Wakanda. Hearing T’Challa talk about it so often was bound to incite some wonder and thirst for knowledge. The question, then, was what Sam intended to do about it. 

That train of thought, however, was put aside while T’Challa found himself confronted with their one year anniversary and no idea what to do for it. This time it was his job to decide on dinner plans and what they’d do after. Sam made it clear that he didn’t care if he got to do it again, but T’Challa thought it was only fair to lighten the load a little.

So that was how T’Challa found himself meeting one Steve Rogers for coffee, struggling to come up with something that could fully convey how much Sam meant to him. If anyone could tell him how to please Sam, it would be the man’s best friend since deployment. 

“Well, I’m flattered you asked, but I don’t really know how to help you,” Steve admitted. T’Challa hung his head. _Of course you don’t,_ he thought. “It’s not that I don’t know Sam, it’s that I’m not you. Like, anything I tell you to do is what I would do. It’s not who you are and he’ll be able to tell.” It made perfect sense and T’Challa had to admit that he didn’t know why he hadn’t realized that himself.

“I am just… concerned,” T’Challa admitted. Steve frowned, confused. “Not about our relationship,” came the quick clarification, “but because I do not think anything I can provide is enough. Sam means very much to me and he deserves something so that he knows how I feel, but… I do not know what that would be.”

Steve was giving him a look, a strange look, one that T’Challa couldn’t explain or understand. But it was gone before T’Challa could ask. “You need to think about what will let him know that he is important and loved. But, well, between you and me? He knows.” Steve leaned forward, expression impressing on T’Challa how serious this was. “Really, T’Challa. You could rent a movie from Redbox and cook top ramen and he would still appreciate it.” 

“I am not that bad at cooking,” T’Challa replied dryly. They both knew he might not rival Sam, but he was not shabby in the kitchen. If the stories about Steve’s culinary escapades were true, T’Challa was at least better than one person. “I do appreciate it,” T’Challa clarified, hoping that Steve knew he was earnest. “But I will put a bit more effort into our anniversary than that.”

Steve laughed. “That’s probably a good idea. Buck always says I should never be taken seriously when it comes to planning. Star Spangled Man Without a Plan or something.” T’Challa smiled, not quite following the joke but still recognizing it for its comedic value. 

The conversation continued and it was maybe ten minutes later when T’Challa suddenly asked,

“Do you think Sam would enjoy going to Wakanda?” It was a credit to Steve’s ability to recover from surprises that he didn’t spit his coffee all over the table. As it was, he coughed and sounded like he was drowning for a good minute. A stab of guilt hit T’Challa and he made sure Steve had recovered before clarifying. “Not for our anniversary. But I could buy tickets and give them to him later? If that is a good idea. He may hate it.” 

“I doubt that he would hate going to the country where you were born. If it’s even half the place you make it sound like, even Bucky would like it and he hates traveling.” They both knew that what Bucky really disliked were planes, but that wasn’t the point.

T’Challa shrugged, staring at his mostly-empty coffee cup. The barista had misheard his name and written “Techalla” on it in loopy letters. It was not the worst misspelling T’Challa had ever seen. “That is a big commitment, though. And I have not discussed his feelings on the matter before… Perhaps I should mention it to him first?” 

“That might help, yeah.” Steve gave him a small smile and T’Challa had to admit that it was little wonder how the man had made captain. There was something about Steve that inspired a person, made them want to be better.

He was also a highly competitive person and could never keep himself out of a fight, which no doubt had helped him climb the ranks. But unless it was Mario Kart night at Sam’s apartment, T’Challa rarely saw the former side and the latter was kept under control by one James Barnes. 

The two men complimented each other, T’Challa knew. By virtue of being Sam’s boyfriend, he spent an almost ridiculous amount of time with the others. He also had met some of Sam’s other friends, most notably Natasha, who was either an ex-KGB assassin or a current CIA assassin. T’Challa wasn’t sure which would be less terrifying. 

It was Natasha who T’Challa found himself talking to next, several days after his coffee with Steve. 

“Has Sam ever spoken to you about visiting Wakanda?” T’Challa asked. Natasha glanced up from her phone. The two of them were waiting for Sam to show up. They were going to carpool to a club that Natasha had been to before, planning on meeting Steve, Bucky, and Clint there. 

She seemed surprised by the question. It was not that T’Challa had never spoken to her before, but generally their relationship was regulated to more impersonal questions or comments such as “if you blue shell me I will end you.” Still, if there was anyone who knew Sam as much as Steve knew him, it was Natasha. 

After a moment, she shook her head. “Not in any detail. It’s something he would like to do, eventually, if you two stay together.” She always spoke in “ifs” and “maybes.” It had taken T’Challa while to realize that was just who she was and not at all a reflection of how Natasha felt about his and Sam’s relationship. “Why, are you bringing him there soon?” 

“I have not decided. Do you think he would enjoy it?” Natasha thought about it, though T’Challa had no doubt that she had already considered all possible outcomes of such a decision. She was always on a schedule, planning her days down to the hour, in a way that should have given her no time for spontaneous adventures. If Bucky was to be believed, though, she was actually the most excitable and reactionary of them all.

That, however, was hard for T’Challa to imagine. 

“I think you should talk to him about it, because Sam is a grown up who can give you his own opinion on things,” Natasha finally replied. T’Challa made a face and she smiled. “But, for the record, I think he would enjoy going on a polar bear swim with you in the middle of winter. A trip to Wakanda, though, is probably a better idea.” 

T’Challa muttered something about all of Sam’s friends being mysterious and unhelpful. Natasha just smiled a little more. 

Then Sam pulled up and there was no more time to talk.

But because T’Challa was a mature adult, he decided to keep thinking about future plans in the future and focus instead on the much more immediate anniversary. It was coming up in a week and he still had no plans, so he quickly made a few phone calls and wrote a few ideas down. Thank god for Sam’s massive family and the fact that they had all given T’Challa their phone numbers. 

And thank god that Sam hadn’t made T’Challa promise not to home cook anything.

When Sam came over, T’Challa was frantically running around his kitchen hoping that the smell was something cooking, not burning, and praying that the smoke wasn’t heavy enough to set his fire alarm off. He shouted for Sam to let himself in; the two had exchanged keys several months ago, just to make life easier, though they hadn’t talked about moving in together.

But this meant Sam was able to come in, follow the smell of _something_ and the sound of T’Challa swearing, and see just what was happening. In this circumstance, what was happening included several pots on the usually unused stove, T’Challa stirring one of them, a bowl of what was either potato salad or panther treats to one side, while the sink ran cold water over what looked like a mountain of failed previous attempts.

“Um. Do you need--”

“I am completely fine,” T’Challa insisted, pausing to wipe some sweat off his forehead. A timer went off and he dove for the stove, opening it up and filling the room with the smell of… well, Sam wasn’t entirely sure what it was supposed to be, but it looked like brisket. “Please wait in the dining room, I will be with you shortly.” There was something heartwarming about seeing T’Challa trying to cook, but Sam couldn’t help but be a little startled. Still, he trusted his boyfriend enough not to burn down his own kitchen.

After about ten more minutes, Sam growing increasingly worried with every second, T’Challa appeared. His apron was a mess and it hadn’t been able to cover all of the culinary mess. There were several stains on T’Challa’s shirt, as well as sweat and water droplets scattered across the collar and sleeves. He had a faint sheen like someone who had just been on a run and he was breathing like it too.

Sam wasn’t sure if he had ever wanted to kiss someone more. It was definitely in his top three. So he stood up and did just that. 

T’Challa pressed into the kiss, arms wrapping around his boyfriend, practically melting into the kiss. It didn’t matter that T’Challa was taller; this time Sam was the one providing comfort and reassurance that everything was all right. “So do you want to talk about it or should I order Chinese?” Sam asked. Just because he was a supportive boyfriend did not mean that he was also confident in T’Challa’s cooking ability. 

Especially not after what he had just seen.

T’Challa wasn’t offended in the slightest, but he pulled away with a small smile and shook his head. “I believe I was able to salvage some of it,” he said. “Sit, I will bring out the first course. There’s also wine to go with it that I hope you will enjoy.” With that, he disappeared back into the kitchen. 

Sam sighed, a matching grin on his face, and sat. 

The table was decorated in a traditional American style. That is to say, there was a white tablecloth underneath two flickering candles, a small bouquet of red roses in a glass vase set in the center. A large ceramic plate and silver utensils were set out, the cloth napkin folded like one would see in a restaurant. Sam knew that T’Challa didn’t own any tablecloths or fancy napkins, and he really didn’t think that folding fabric into neat triangles was taught at Oxford. The idea that T’Challa had gone out and bought these things, learned something, just to impress Sam was… 

Well, it was a bit embarrassing how sweet and wonderful Sam thought it was. He might have been a little less impressed, if more touched, if he knew that this was T’Challa’s fifth attempt to make a decent brisket and that he had almost given up the potato salad three times. T’Challa certainly knew, and he was glad he had started cooking at one instead of at four. 

But there was enough left to make a meal out of it, even if it wasn’t as pretty as T’Challa had hoped. He brought out the brisket first, already cut into what he hoped were good portions, and set that in front of Sam. Next came the bowl of potato salad along with a smaller bowl of coleslaw. He topped it all off with two glasses and a bottle of red wine. 

Looking at the table, T’Challa sliding in next to Sam, something clicked in Sam’s head. “Oh my god,” he said, staring. “You made me a Wilson-Diggs family dinner.” T’Challa felt a rush of relief; of all the things that could have gone wrong, the most prevalent fear was that Sam wouldn’t realize what T’Challa was aiming for. 

“It’s not much,” T’Challa admitted, “and I’m sure your family would prepare it much better, but--” Sam shut him up with a kiss. It was long overdue, in both of their opinions, and it certainly was T’Challa’s favorite way to be silenced. 

“It’s perfect. Now shut up and let me eat, kitty cat. I have to be able to tell everyone that you cooked me the best meal.” Something else connected. “You asked them for help, didn’t you?” T’Challa at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “Aw man, that is so cheating. I’ve never even met your sister and you’ve met all of my family.”

“In my defense, you are the one who invited me to your mother’s birthday,” T’Challa pointed out. Sam made a face.

“In my defense, he says,” Sam half-mocked, though the smile on his face and the glimmer in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t at all mad. “We both know that Mama Wilson asked, and when Mama Wilson asks she receives.” 

“And I am very glad to have met her,” T’Challa replied. The fact that he was being honest still stunned Sam. T’Challa would not have been the first boyfriend to take one look at Sam’s eccentric family and decide to leave while he wasn’t in too deep. “I am most proud of the coleslaw,” T’Challa said, changing the subject. “Though I do not know if I used enough mayo.”

Sam took the bowl and spooned himself a big helping of it. “T’Challa, you can never use enough mayo,” he responded gravely. T’Challa snorted and poured them wine. If it was a little more than usual, well, he hoped that a bit of alcohol would make everything taste better.

That was how it worked, right? 

If the food was absolutely horrible, though, Sam said nothing. He complimented it and gave T’Challa kisses throughout the meal, to the point where T’Challa asked if Sam was trying to eat him instead of the food. That lessened the amount of kisses, though the light touches and casual affection did not cease. T’Challa was glad. He could never get enough of Sam’s presence and the feeling of their bodies next to each other.

Eventually, though, the food was more or less gone. There was not as much meat as T’Challa had planned, due to him having to restart the recipe several times, but he had made a pie and he brought that out next. 

“I even have ice cream, if you wish,” he added as he cut into the dessert. Sam rolled his eyes. 

“You’re a complete sap. If this wasn’t my favorite I’d accuse you of talking with Steve too much. He’s the wholesome, all-American you seem to think you’re cooking for,” Sam teased. T’Challa said nothing as Sam cut a sizeable chunk of the apple pie and put it on a plate. “And get me that ice cream. If it isn’t vanilla I’m breaking up with you.” 

T’Challa had gotten vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry just in case. He didn’t even like strawberry ice cream, but he figured he could put it in the staff lounge and Parker or Barton would eat it soon enough. 

Though, honestly, T’Challa didn’t really like ice cream at all. It was too sweet, but in a different way than caramelized bananas were. He had fond memories of eating shuku shuku, a Nigerian dessert that was also popular in Wakanda, as well as the other things his mother had put together. 

But tonight was about Sam so T’Challa dutifully ate his piece of pie, scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. 

“I love you,” T’Challa murmured later as he joined Sam on the couch, dishes put in the sink to be washed another day. Sam curled up into his arms, back pressed against T’Challa. It was so tempting to kiss his neck so T’Challa did, leaving sharp nips and moving up to nibble on Sam’s earlobe. 

Sam shivered and T’Challa couldn’t help but smile. “I thought you already had dessert,” Sam muttered. T’Challa chuckled and just squeezed Sam tighter.

“I could never have enough of you,” he replied. Sam made a face. 

“Seriously, have you and Steve been swapping stories? Reading Pinterest articles titled “101 Ways to Make Your Man Blush?” I’m not complaining but seriously, guy’s gonna get a complex if you keep saying stuff like that or making me home-cooked meals.” T’Challa laughed again, the sound reverberating in his chest. 

“If it makes you feel better, I think next time I wish to treat you to all-American cuisine, I will just take you out to dine. This was nice, but there is a much lower risk of food poisoning or burning my apartment down.” Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh. 

“Please don’t burn your apartment down while trying to impress me. I promise that you already have my heart.” It was not the first time Sam had said something like that, but hearing it always made T’Challa’s own heart flutter and skip a beat. That was not a feeling he was used to and he doubted he would ever. 

There was something about Sam that kept T’Challa experiencing new sensations, things outside of his comfort zone at times, but always rewarding. Always leaving him thankful for every minute, every second he got to spend saying Sam was his boyfriend. Nothing could replace that and T’Challa hoped nothing would. 

“I, uh, I got you something too. It’s not much and if you hate it that’s totally ok because I can get a refund on them and--” T’Challa kissed the very edge of his lips and pulled him closer. 

“Please, I am sure I will love whatever you have gotten me.” Somehow that made Sam squirm even more. T’Challa let him, watching in amusement and curiosity as he turned around so they were facing one another. Sam was straddling T’Challa’s hips, yet there was nothing sexual about it. 

Not that T’Challa minded. Sometimes it was nice not to have that pressure. 

“Here.” Sam pulled something out of his pocket. It was a piece of paper that was folded into a neat square. He handed it to T’Challa who opened it up and stared at it for a moment. And then another moment. “Like I said, it’s far away enough that I can get a refund if you hate the idea, you just mentioned you hadn’t been back in a few years--”

“Sam. These are two tickets. To _Wakanda._ ” T’Challa looked once more at the paper as if he had misread it the first three times. But no, it hadn’t changed. It was still a receipt for two airplane tickets on a flight one month away. “I. You didn’t need to--”

“I know,” Sam interrupted, “but I wanted to. You’ve been so great and wonderful and I just wanted to do something for you.” T’Challa blinked. He had looked at tickets online before. In fact, he enjoyed torturing himself by flipping from his bank account to the cost of tickets. 

This was not a cheap gift. In fact, T’Challa suddenly felt like the basketball game he was planning on bringing Sam to was not nearly enough. They weren’t even good seats. 

“Oh no,” Sam said, kissing T’Challa out of his thoughts, “you are not allowed to start questioning yourself. You have done more than enough for me. I love you. Besides, this isn’t a competition about who can spend more than the other person.” Sam made a face. “If it makes you feel better, you’re going to be buying dinner for a while.” 

T’Challa couldn’t help but laugh. “Sam, I will buy you dinner for the next five years as a thank you for this.” It was only partially incredible that he feels comfortable enough to assume they will be together for that long.

“Eh, maybe only half the year. Even I get sick of Chinese takeout,” Sam replied. T’Challa pretended to be offended, pushing Sam off of his lap. “What, it’s true!” He did not have an obsession with Chinese takeout, it was just delicious and the fastest to get delivered. “Don’t worry, the only sweet sauce I want tonight is right here,” Sam teased, playful side coming out now that the anxiety of his gift was gone.

It was such a bad line that T’Challa snorted. “I cannot believe you just said that.” He adjusts so that he’s the one pressing Sam against the couch, hands already leaving light touches against Sam’s sides. “But you are my boyfriend, and you are incredibly attractive, so I suppose this won’t be too much of a pain.” 

Sam threw out a sharp quip. T’Challa made sure he showed just how much he appreciated his boyfriend. It really wasn't a hardship and Sam gave just as much as he got. It was perfect.

**Plus One:**

T’Challa usually hated travel, but this time he had to stop himself from packing a week in advance. There were plans to be made, people to make sure to see, and of course sights and experiences that he wanted Sam to have, so T’Challa was at least able to bury himself in that. He didn’t even like to make itineraries, but he had a few lined up in case Sam wanted to know what they were doing. All Sam had said was that he wanted the very last day to do what he wanted, otherwise it was up to T’Challa.

And, well, T’Challa was certainly rising to that occasion.

The first person he called was Shuri. He was almost too excited to explain what was happening and he ended up being on the phone for three hours discussing plans with her. She also spent a good half hour telling him that he ‘better show Sam how much he appreciates this because I know you, brother, and you are not good at expressing your emotions.’ Which was. Well. Not necessarily untrue but T’Challa liked to think he was getting better at it.

After that conversation, T’Challa thought it might be a good idea to get the week off from work. It would be rather sad if he left for Wakanda and forgot to tell anyone that he wouldn’t be showing up at the zoo. Fortunately he had about three months worth of sick and paid vacation days saved up, so a week was no issue. T’Challa also was not involved in anything too critical, like feeding the animals, so it wasn’t like the zoo needed a replacement.

They would be fine. That didn’t mean T’Challa wouldn’t leave instructions for the panthers’ keepers to read. The cats were a bit fickle at times and T’Challa found that a nice schedule helped keep them content and peaceful. Besides, it was not as if T’Challa left unrealistic requests. Just a few extra treats here and there, some attention scattered throughout the day, and that was it.

Ok, maybe T’Challa was a little worried about how the panthers would be without him. He knew, logically, they would be fine, but he couldn’t help but think of them as his cats. Not in a housecat sort of way, seeing as his apartment was not big enough for a normal housecat and could definitely not fit a fully grown panther. But in a… caring, patient observer sort of way. 

Whenever T’Challa tried to explain to Sam, he just nodded and pretended to listen. Sam was far too polite to point out how weird T’Challa was acting, which was nice, but T’Challa couldn’t help but think normal people probably did not get so invested in wild animals. Then again, he worked at a zoo so perhaps his normal was not everyone else’s normal.

The next people T’Challa spoke to were Sam’s friends. He confronted Natasha first, mostly because he thought she would be easiest to talk to but also because she was the first he saw. In hindsight though, it was a horrible decision.

“You knew,” he shot at her as they sat down for drinks. Sam raised an eyebrow, confused, while Natasha just smirked. T’Challa _hmphed._ “Did Steve know?” A nod. “Did James know?” Another nod. “Is there any of Sam’s friends who didn’t know?” Natasha pursed her lips.

“I think Clint didn’t know, but we were all too worried about him telling you on accident.” T’Challa had to admit that was a reasonable concern. “So did you show how much you appreciated the gift in bed or did you not make it that far?” Natasha asked, the very model of innocence. T’Challa choked on his drink. Sam, at least, had the decency to blush.

The flight itself was boring and took so long that T’Challa got through all of his favorite stories about Wakanda and ended up talking about his childhood in more depth. Sam got to hear about the two-story, three bedroom house that T’Challa grew up in and how once he had decided to adopt a stray goat and brought it home. The animal had eaten up an entire couch, three curtains, and shit all over the carpet. Needless to say, T’Challa’s mother had not been pleased.

T’Challa was also able to talk more about his sister, Shuri. She had chosen to stay in Wakanda and become a police officer, one of the first female detectives, and was known as one of the best. He spoke with pride about how a popular television series had been created based off of her. “It’s about a group of female detectives called the Dora Milaje,” T’Challa explained. “At the hotel I will show you. There is bound to be an episode or two on while we are there.” 

Upon landing, though, the first thing T’Challa did was exchange all of their U.S. dollars to the local currency. Then they were able to take a taxi to the hotel, which T’Challa and Sam had agreed to split the cost of, and got their bags brought up to the room. It was not yet dinner time and neither of them fancied being cooped up in a small room right after being stuck on a small plane. With that in mind, T’Challa dragged Sam outside to walk around and see what they could find.

To his utter delight, a fair had just come to town and T’Challa barely needed to open his mouth before Sam agreed to go. It was just like carnivals in America except everything was in Wakandan and the food was different. T’Challa convinced Sam to try a little bit of everything, not hesitating to insist that this or that was a Wakanda staple or a childhood favorite.

“Are you ok? Is this too much?” T’Challa asked as they walked past a cluster of booths. They were all offering prizes that varied from stuffed animals to balloon guitars. The animal that was most common was, of course, the panther. Sam was pleased to see a few hawks though.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “This is… it’s nice.” And it really was. “Oh, hey.” Sam wandered over to a game where the goal seemed to be shooting as many ducks as possible. One of the prizes was a plushie panther with too-big eyes. It looked like it was made for a five year old, so of course Sam had to get it. “I’m gonna get you that,” he told T’Challa. The other man made an amused noise.

“Really? How are you going to do that when you can’t speak the language?” T’Challa teased. Sam rolled his eyes and took out the right amount of money, slamming it onto the counter much to the humor of the woman running the booth.

“Money, kitty cat, is the universal language.” Sam took the offered toy gun and waited for the signal. As soon as the ducks lurched into action, he fired. He had not been a sniper or really particularly excellent at shooting, seeing as his main specialty was jumping out of flying vehicles and rescuing people, but it was easy enough to correct for how the game was rigged. 

Within ten minutes, and only after three tries, Sam had won T’Challa the panther and gotten himself a little bird as well. 

“They can be friends,” Sam explained as he handed the two toys to his boyfriend. T’Challa laughed and kissed him on the forehead. _If this is how the rest of the trip goes, I will be a happy man,_ he thought.

And really, it was the trip from heaven. Of course they felt like they didn’t have enough time to do everything. The visit to the Wakandan Natural History Museum had to be cut short because Sam had a panic attack and Shuri ended up cancelling the first time they were going to meet, which really bothered Sam for some reason, but other than that T’Challa’s planning paid off. They went to several art museums and pretended to know what was going on, only to mutter to one another about how none of it made much sense, and spent several afternoons and evenings on a nearby lake.

T’Challa loved those times the most, if he had to be frank. It was rare to see Sam without a shirt on in public, seeing as he usually wore a swim shirt if he had to go into the water, but he had left that at his apartment at T’Challa’s request. No one looked twice except for T’Challa. He got to see all he wanted.

The hotel staff had to clean the sheets quite often. T’Challa couldn’t quite bring himself to feel bad about that. 

But the trip was only supposed to last for a week and neither of them were in any position to put off returning to America. While T’Challa was and always would be in love with Wakanda, he had responsibilities back across the ocean. Sam, of course, had a lot more than T’Challa ever would. Besides, T’Challa might have been confident in his relationship with Sam but they weren’t quite at the point where cross-continental moves were in the cards.

Sam’s plans, however, were. 

T’Challa had been looking forward to the last day just out of anticipation at what his boyfriend could have thought out. Sam had been unnaturally tight-lipped about it all, refusing to give away even the slightest of hints. Naturally, T’Challa expected them to be together for the whole time, maybe revisiting their favorite attractions. It had been quite a wild ride being a tourist in his own nation, but T’Challa couldn’t say he hated the experience. 

Regardless, he thought the day would be him and Sam together. So yes, he was rather surprised when Sam told him to get dressed because he was going out to brunch with Shuri. 

“It is not that I’m complaining, but do I at least get to know why?” T’Challa asked. Sam just gave him a smile and promised that he just needed to get some things done. 

“Text me when you’re coming back, ok?” T’Challa agreed and walked to the little cafe where Shuri was waiting. 

Seeing her for a second time was even better, and T’Challa had to admit that it was nice to be able to just talk to her without having Sam there. He loved Sam but sometimes he just wanted to spend time with what family he had left. Shuri seemed to feel the same way and the two quickly fell into discussion over little things, like whether T’Challa was getting any better at cooking, if Shuri was still seeing that doctor, how some of their childhood friends were. 

The answers were no, no, and quite well, all of which T’Challa had expected. He always knew that Shuri was too good for the man she had been seeing. 

“Ororo was here a few weeks ago,” Shuri mentioned. T’Challa’s eyes widened at the mention of his first and only girlfriend. She had been an exchange student at the school he and Shuri had gone to for the Wakandan equivalent of high school. No one else had the same energy, inspired the same spark of passion in T’Challa. They had broken up after a year, but still remained amicable and talked from time to time. 

“Did you see her?” T’Challa asked. Shuri nodded.

“She asked how you were and I told her that you were happy in America.” A pause. “And dating someone.” T’Challa raised an eyebrow as his sister continued. “She wanted to know details, of course, but I couldn’t give her any since you had not told me much about Sam.” 

“You have met him now,” T’Challa pointed out. Shuri waved a hand. 

“True, but I had not then.” She stopped again, taking a sip out of her juice. “I have never seen you so happy with someone before, brother. Sam is good for you. If Ororo asked me now, I would be able to paint pictures of your joy with a few words.” T’Challa couldn’t help but laugh.

“Since when have you been a poet?” He asked. Shuri looked a bit offended, but in a way that any sibling would be if their brother poked fun. 

“I have been doing more reading, lately. I find that it is nice to come home to a good book after a stressful day.” T’Challa nodded. He had been like that, and still was on occasion. More often than not, however, he found himself at Sam’s when he was seeking comfort. “Do you think you are going to marry him?” 

“I gave him a promise pendant,” T’Challa replied instantly, “for our six month anniversary.” Shuri’s eyes went wide. “I know, I know. But I explained to him what it meant and I told him that he did not need to accept it.”

“But he did?” 

“Yes.” T’Challa thought about that night, the look on Sam’s face and the way they had grown closer than ever before, both physically and emotionally. He thought about how the last year was one of the happiest he had ever had, how every moment with Sam was a treasured memory. “I will marry that man someday, Shuri. I promise you that.” 

“Don’t promise me, promise him!” But Shuri was smiling and T’Challa knew that she was happy for him. 

Afterwards, Shuri suggested that they walk around the city together and T’Challa agreed. He sent Sam a quick text saying as much and got back a few smile emojis and a ‘have fun!!!!’ which, well, that was a good sign. 

It felt like the two were back in their teenaged years, making jokes at the other’s expense and looking at storefronts that sold rather ridiculous things. Just like when they were younger, Shuri insisted that they go into a place that sold a variety of weapons, from traditional Wakandan clubs and spears to Japanese katanas. T’Challa pretended to be uninterested and bored, but really he was wondering if he could fly a warclub home in his luggage or if customs would confiscate it. 

He didn’t buy it, mostly because Shuri was giving him a look that said “if you buy this you will never hear the end of it” but also because he didn’t want Sam to think that his boyfriend was into collecting Wakandan weapons. T’Challa already had a spear and shield mounted on his wall, he could do without a club.

Shuri and T’Challa ended up spending the majority of the afternoon together, venturing into one shop and then the next, talking all the while. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this, being close to her and being in a place where he wasn’t the minority. Wakanda was not as closed to outsiders as it had been, but it was still not as friendly to others as many other nations were. In fact, the only flights that could come into Wakanda were ones from Wakandan companies. 

Then again, as a child the only way to leave Wakanda was by driving or sailing on one of the rivers that flowed through it, so T’Challa supposed some things had improved. He couldn’t help but be a little pleased that there were no fast food companies, though. 

Eventually, though, both of them were tired and T’Challa knew he needed to get back to Sam. They walked back to the cafe where Shuri had parked and she offered to drive him to the hotel. Tired and a bit dusty from all the walking, T’Challa agreed. Wakanda was a great nation, but even the greatest of nations still could have sand and dirt everywhere. 

T’Challa: I am coming back to the hotel  
Sam: Ok! 

There was a picture message and T’Challa downloaded it. He wasn’t at all surprised when he saw that it was a kitten curled up on a chair, sleeping. The caption Sam had added read “is this you in ten minutes?” T’Challa thought about it and decided that yes, a nap was in order.

“Hm, I love you,” he told Sam as he walked into the hotel. He pulled his boyfriend into a hug, kissing him a few times. Sam beamed. “I’m going to take a quick nap, ok? Will that ruin any of your plans?” 

“Nah, go and take your cat nap. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.” T’Challa knew it was pointless to ask for any more details, so he just nodded, kissed Sam again, and walked to their bed. He was just able to get his shoes and socks off before collapsing and falling asleep.

Sam woke him up several hours later with a gentle nudge and a promise for entertainment. T’Challa wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but a trip to the theatre was not it. There was a popular Wakandan play showing, one T’Challa had seen before, but it was a childhood favorite and he found himself enjoying it even more than when he was younger. It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that his joy was due to the fact that he could hear Sam laugh at all the right moments.

Afterwards, Sam took them back to one of the restaurants they had eaten at earlier that week. Even though it was a busy night, Sam had gotten them reservations and they were seated rather quickly. T’Challa ordered the same thing as before but Sam got something different.

“I want to try as much of this as I can,” he explained. “Who knows when I’ll be able to come back here?” T’Challa pointed out that Sam could probably find the recipes for a variety of Wakandan dishes on the internet. “Yeah, but it’s always better when someone else cooks for you.” Sam thought about it. “But don’t start cooking just to make me happy. Your last meal was a good first attempt, but there’s a few Wilson-Diggs family secrets you need to be let in on before you can actually cook.” 

“I look forward to hearing them,” T’Challa replied. Sam chuckled and kissed him. “Thank you for this trip, Sam. I have been meaning to return to Wakanda for some time, but I realized that some part of me must have been waiting for the right person to bring with me.” T’Challa was not a particularly religious or superstitious man. His father had been and many of those ideals had been passed on to T’Challa and Shuri, but the actual belief in gods and magic had not. 

Still, T’Challa had been thinking about his life recently and he could see more than a little evidence that things had come together through either sheer luck or divine interference. Really, he didn’t care which. All he wanted was to be able to continue holding onto Sam and loving him. That, T’Challa hoped, was not too much to ask for. 

“You’re such a sap,” Sam muttered, ducking his head. “I love you too. You don’t need to get all poetic about it. Makes me feel like an uncultured swine.” They both knew that wasn’t true. When it came to American pop culture, T’Challa was still woefully behind. He just didn’t have much motivation to learn it. Sam, of course, took it upon himself to rectify this. 

They still didn’t mention how much T’Challa had sobbed during the opening of Up. Seriously, that was supposed to be a kids movie. No wonder Americans were so violent, growing up with that kind of a narrative. 

T’Challa liked to make fun of Americans. Sam indulged him. It wasn’t anything too serious. 

After dinner T’Challa expected them to return to the hotel, perhaps partake in a more private form of entertainment, but Sam instead drove them to the lake that was situated right outside of the city. By the time they got there, it was pitch black outside and only the streetlamps provided any form of light. 

Still, the lake was beautiful at night. There was some pollution from the nearby city, but not enough to block out all the stars. Other couples were also sailing on the water, boats affixed with little lanterns to help illuminate their path. Sam convinced T’Challa to get them one, teasing him and saying that _it is understandable if you don’t like water, kitty cat, but it looks like a lot of fun._

T’Challa got them a boat and found himself paddling on the water, doing all the work while Sam went on and on about how much he loved Wakanda. It sounded a bit like he was trying to convince T’Challa to move there, which was amusing to think about. T’Challa would have been lying if he said he hadn’t considered the possibility of, sometime in the far future, leaving America with Sam to come to Wakanda. 

But no, that would be a conversation for another day. 

_Perhaps when we are married,_ T’Challa found himself thinking. _That would be nice._

“What’re you thinking?” Sam asked, breaking him out of his mind. Sam had a curious expression on his face but something told T’Challa that this was just a precursor to something else. Another question. 

“Just wondering about our future,” T’Challa replied, not technically lying. Sam hummed and the two fell back into silence for a moment. T’Challa wondered if he had just seen what he brain had wanted to see when he noticed that Sam was fidgeting with something in his hands. _Is it rude to ask what that is? What if -- oh my god._

“I, uh, have been doing a lot of thinking about that too. Our future, that is,” Sam began. “And I realized that I’ve never been more in love with someone. You’re the best person in my life and I never want to imagine a situation where that isn’t the case.” _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god._ “You make me a better person and I like to think that I inspire you to be better too.

“When I first got back to the States, I was a mess. I had serious PTSD and could barely sleep. I lived in a one room apartment because anything else freaked me out. I slept with a gun under my pillow and three knives on me at any time. The first time my sister visited, she hugged me too tight and I almost broke her wrist.” Sam took a shaky breath. This was not the first time they had talked about his mental health, but it was the first time he was telling T’Challa this many details.

“I got into therapy after that. I worked to get better. Steve helped. He had recovered and was adjusting really well to civilian life and I knew… I knew that I wasn’t. So I got better. I am better. But you know I still have…” Sam shrugged. Getting through airport security had been hell for Sam and that was with the expedited lines for veterans. T’Challa had gone through the civilian line and it had taken longer than usual. Sam almost had a panic attack when thirty minutes had passed and his boyfriend still hadn’t emerged. 

That was only the most recent and notable incident. They still avoided anywhere with fireworks and Sam spent most of his time at the zoo in the back, where the noise of the crowds were almost impossible to hear. But he had never tried to hurt T’Challa and picturing that was… well, it was distressing. Sam was strong, so strong, and too many people didn’t realize that. They didn’t see what T’Challa saw.

Once again, T’Challa was struck with how lucky he was to have someone wonderful like Sam Wilson in his life. Which, really, made what Sam was saying a little easier to bear.

“What I’m trying to say is that you are the best person in my life and I’m trying to be good enough for that. And I might not be perfect and I might not have studied at Oxford or gotten a doctorate, but maybe you wouldn’t mind staying with me anyway.” Sam reached forward, something in his hands. It was a small box made out of dark wood. He opened it and revealed the ring that rested there. 

It was simple silver, a few scratches on the surface but otherwise perfect. Three gems were inlaid into the metal, which curved with the thin lines that broke up the smooth surface. T’Challa reached out with trembling fingers as he picked it up and felt it in his palm. He thought that he had to be imaging it, but he had seen this ring every day for over thirty years. He had played with it and spun it around and almost lost it several times. He would never forget the sight of his father’s engagement ring.

T’Challa let out a half-choked sob and put it on his finger. Sam swallowed, licking his lips. The tension in his shoulders was visible and it was surprising he wasn’t shaking out of the boat. Words didn’t come to mind; all T’Challa could do was grab Sam and hold him, kissing him since that was the only thing that mattered.

The world narrowed down to just them, the ring cold and heavy on T’Challa’s finger, a physical manifestation of everything Sam meant to him. Their arms were wrapped around one another, bodies pressed close, cool Wakandan air flowing around them as if even the weather refused to separate the two. 

“I love you,” T’Challa whispered when they finally pulled apart. There was a moment of silence, Sam so happy that there were tears in his eyes. T’Challa could feel the sting in his own eyes and he blinked in a desperate attempt to clear his vision. He wanted to remember, forever, the sight of Sam sitting in the boat, illuminated by a few nearby lanterns, a perfect smile on his face. 

Sam looked like an angel and T’Challa felt like he had been blessed by one. 

“So is that a yes?” Sam asked, an almost hysterical laugh building in his chest.

“Yes!” T’Challa pulled Sam back into his arms. He was almost overwhelmed with love, with the adoration that pulsed off of Sam in waves, rushing over T’Challa. The sense of how _right_ this felt and how _happy_ Sam was mingled into something entirely new, some certainty that T’Challa had never experienced before in his life. Sam’s emotions were on his sleeve and it was obvious how he was reacting to all of this. 

And T’Challa thought he understood how Sam felt.


End file.
